


Mistakes Like This

by PeppyDragon



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Act II, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Purple Hawke, Qunari Fetish, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-14 09:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13004703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyDragon/pseuds/PeppyDragon
Summary: Marian Hawke never had the best head on her shoulders - she had proven that time and time again. No one was really surprised to learn that Hawke had an affinity for the Qunari inhabiting the docks; after all, she went out of her way to help their leader, the Arishok, with any task he gave her. But when she is called to the compound late one evening, the Arishok offering an exchange of information, something shifts between them. Something Hawke is both terrified, and exhilarated, to exploit.Hawke's fun ends abruptly when she - and the Arishok - discover one of Hawke's companions was behind the Tome of Koslun's theft.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaden56](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaden56/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'll be tryna suck all of the liquid out the dirt,  
>  Tryna catch a curve,  
> Digging my own grave."_   
>  [-"Grave Digger," Matt Maeson](https://open.spotify.com/track/3DAQWIPCCpmPDrb02wFrxb)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, as usual!
> 
> Special thanks and love to Jaden56! I hope you enjoy it, my dear! <3

* * *

 

The crack of Varric's tankard hitting the table startled Hawke out of her blind stupor. She blinked, eyes turning from the roaring fire to her assembled companions; Fenris was attempting to duck under Isabela's drunken, seeking fingers, Anders was caught up with his manifesto scribbles, his full tankard forgotten, and Varric was watching her with a raised brow.

He wanted to ask her if she was alright, she could see it in his eyes. He was too perceptive for his own good - certainly too much for Hawke's good. She couldn't get anything past the dwarf. Hawke still wasn't sure if that was more of a blessing or a curse.

"Headache," she half-lied with a tiny smile and a salute with her stein. "Nothing more alcohol can't solve."

"Or sleep," he suggested pointedly.

"Varric, if you keep this up I might need to notify Mother that you're looking to replace her," Hawke teased, winking at the small smirk that tilted her best friend's lips. She was exhausted, truth be told, and her shoulder was still tender from being dislocated just hours ago. Anders had done well while healing it, but the socket pinged in annoyance whenever she lifted her arm above her waist. She downed her drink and waved for Norah to bring another, turning her attention to Fenris' quickly-spreading glower. "Were you planning on heading back soon?"

"Whenever you are ready," he confirmed with a sigh, batting Isabela's hand away from his lap for what had to be the fourth time. Isabela pouted before excusing herself to use Varric's chamberpot, sauntering away and trying to entice as many eyes as she could.

"One more drink, then we go," Hawke nodded to Fenris, leaning back in her chair and watching Isabela's backside disappear around the stairwell corner.

It was an unusually quiet night, both inside the Hanged Man and outside. Hawke's little band of misfits had done well to eradicate the worst of the riffraff that loitered through Kirkwall at night, leaving things - dare she say it - rather dull. She didn't need Fenris' escort to her Hightown manor, of course, but he always seemed willing to offer it. And who was Hawke to refuse a handsome man's attention, no matter how benign?

"Serah Hawke."

Hawke jumped, alarmed by the booming growl from behind her. She turned quickly, hating herself for startling so easily and so obviously. Hawke was going to blame it on the lingering effects of the saar-qamek poison they had stopped from killing half of Lowtown only hours ago. Not to mention the five ales she'd had since they'd arrived at the Hanged Man. It seemed reasonable enough to be apprehensive after almost dying and smothering the tremors in her hands with more alcohol than advisable.

She certainly had reason to be jumpy with the massive qunari hovering behind her, his silver eyes trained on her with an intensity that made her abdomen quiver. Hawke tried to stamp down the errant emotion and licked her suddenly very dry lips. She could hear Varric trying to stifle a chuckle; he was quite aware of the effect the qunari had on Hawke. "What is it?" she asked, really trying to keep a lid on how dizzy the man's presence was making her. It was just the ale, surely. And the poison she'd inhaled, too. That had to be it.

The qunari blinked balefully at her. "Your presence is required."

Hawke's eyes narrowed, the ember of attraction dying out at the words. "My presence is -- Maker's ass, does your boss know how late it is?"

"Do you?" the qunari replied, to which Varric snorted aloud, trying to cover it with his ale. Before she could sputter a response, the qunari pressed, "You are to come with me. Now."

Hawke set her jaw. "My armor is at my estate, and I am not going there to get it. Whatever your Arishok needs from me, he can demand it tomorrow."

The qunari's lips pulled back slightly into what might have been a snarl, but Varric interrupted smoothly. "Perhaps we should see what the horned overlord wants before we get impetuous, Hawke?"

Hawke glowered, eyes never leaving the qunari. "Fine," she muttered between gritted teeth, pushing to her feet and steeling herself to be intimidating. Gravity and inebriation had other plans, however; she stumbled slightly, having to grab the back of her chair to keep from spilling onto the floor. And probably vomiting on the qunari's very lovely, very polished boots.

She could hear Varric and Fenris pushing back from the table, but the qunari stopped them with a single growl of, "Alone."

Hawke groaned and glanced back at the others. "It's fine. They're just throwing their weight around, as usual." She raised a brow at the qunari. "I assume this is just throwing weight around. I'd be rather displeased if the Arishok is planning on splitting me in half. Not very sporting, me being unarmed and all."

The qunari did not answer, and Hawke didn't press. She nodded a quick goodbye to her companions, doing her best not to focus on the look of obvious concern on their faces. Varric was always worried about her; Fenris, not so much. The hesitation on the elf's face was heavy enough to be terrifying.

But Hawke followed the qunari out of the Hanged Man and toward the docks. They walked in silence, but not for lack of trying on Hawke's part. She commented on the cold night, the oncoming winter, and asked about Par Vollen. She wasn't sure why she cared - _if_ she even cared. More than likely she was merely drunk and annoyed and hoped it might irritate the massive man in front of her.

If it did bother him, he had an excellent Wicked Grace face. Anytime she managed to see his grizzled expression, she found that it was turned up in the same perpetual snarl as when they met in the bar.

"You guys take this silence stuff pretty seriously," she sighed as they descended the long flight of stairs between Lowtown and the Port District's docks.

The compound was silent aside from the occasional guard stationed around. All wakeful eyes followed her, but not with the closeness they used to; Hawke was more of a passing oddity than a concern at this point. She guessed it should make her feel less on edge, but somehow it didn't. Had she really spent so much time in the compound? Had she really been helping the Arishok _that_ much, that his men barely gave her more than a rudimentary glower? Did they really think her so little of a threat?

Granted, in her current state - drunk, wavering slightly, without armor or weapons - she could understand their lack of concern. Even so, she was guessing she could maybe take out a few of them before anyone noticed if she managed to steal a few daggers from an unsuspecting qunari.

As if reading her thoughts, her guide stopped and turned on her, brows furrowing. Hawke came to a quick halt, stumbling slightly on her marmalade-filled legs. "Inside," he said.

Hawke glanced at the tent they had stopped next to. It was the same as all of the others around it - burlap and canvas, stinking of some kind of tar that weatherproofed the cotton. "What...?" she trailed off, not sure what to say.

The qunari sighed, the noise rumbling through the air around her. "Inside." And then he was walking away, shaking his head as if he had just dealt with a particularly dense child. That might have been somewhat accurate, though, given her current state.

Hawke grumbled and pushed into the tent, eyes drawn immediately to the large desk in front of her. There was a map of Thedas, markers in brass and onyx dotting through Tevinter, Par Vollen, and the Free Marches. Hawke narrowed her eyes, stepping closer, but was deterred by a rustling of movement to her left. She turned quickly to find the Arishok pulling himself from a large nest of hides in the far corner of the tent.

He turned to her, and his eyes narrowed. "You are late." Before she could answer, he added, "You are drunk."

"How are you _not_ drunk?" she replied as flippantly as she could past the saliva suddenly choking her mouth. The Arishok was wearing nothing but a scowl and loincloth that did absolutely nothing to keep Hawke's imagination from running wild. She tried to pry her eyes from the straining strip of cloth, but it took more willpower than she had in the moment.

The Arishok moved toward her slowly, his hulking mass only pausing when he was within a hand's reach of her. "You lack discipline. It is a strange thing of one so powerful among her peers. Your heart thunders and you do nothing to stop it, to hide it from those who intend your undoing."

"Are you threatening me?" she asked, but her tone was strangely amused. She knew he wasn't going to do anything to her - not right in that moment, anyway. The lack of concern from his guards, and himself, made that obvious.

He regarded her, his pale eyes hooded. Hawke wasn't sure how long the Arishok held her gaze unblinkingly, but he finally broke it with a grunt and moved toward the table that caught Hawke's eye when she first entered. He glanced down at the map, edging one of the onyx pieces further north in eastern Tevinter. "I intend you no harm for the moment, _basalit-an._ In fact, I offer a... mutually beneficial deal."

Hawke's stomach bottomed out. A _mutually beneficial deal_ with the Qunari sounded more ominous than the words suggested. But what had she been doing the past year? She'd done their dirty work for them more times than she could count. Granted, their end of the bargain had always been tossing too much money at her for the jobs, not understanding the currency rate - or seeming to care, even.

"What does this deal entail?" she asked, steeling herself. More mercenaries? More stolen shipments? More missing initiates?

The Arishok's fists fell to the table and he leaned on them, staring down at the scrawled Qunlat across the map. "You humans care deeply for your families. It is not something we Qunari understand."

"Too much emotion makes you soft?" she teased, knowing she shouldn't but being too tipsy to give a damn. "All those muscles start squelching into your boots if you show emotion to another person?"

His eyes rose to hers, holding them. "We have two pieces of information that our agents have acquired. Two pieces of information that will destroy this... _family_ of yours."

Hawke opened her mouth to ask more, but then thought better of it. The qunari would give her nothing until his terms were met, no matter how many questions she asked. "What do you need me to do?"

The Arishok moved one of the brass pieces in the Free Marches, tipping it over onto its side. "I require information."

"I need more to go on than that," Hawke grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing a bored glare on him. "Stop wasting my time. What, exactly, do you need?"

The Arishok's face changed from his usual blank slate to a snarl. He was moving before Hawke could fathom it, a hand sliding around her neck and lifting her off of the ground. "You have little self-control, Hawke," he growled, his voice so dark and deep that she almost couldn't understand him - or hear him over her own gasps for air. "You provoke what should be left alone. If you were not useful to me, I would crush your throat and forget you before sunrise."

Hawke sputtered, really wishing that being strangled wasn't such an unattractive way to go. Her nails, recently trimmed, scrabbled uselessly at the Arishok's massive forearm, her voice slipping out in broken croaks. Hawke's vision was going dark, eyelids fluttering uselessly, when the Arishok released her.

Hawke fell unceremoniously to the hard floor, curling in on herself and gasping. Each lungful of air scraped through her ragged throat and left her coughing. _This is possibly the worst way I've been greeted by a man in his underthings,_ she thought absently, choking out a dry, pitiful giggle at the absurdly-timed thought.

The Arishok lowered himself into a crouch in front of her, grabbing her chin and pulling it up to look at him. "You will spy for us."

Hawke would have snorted if she wasn't painfully aware of how it would feel on the back of her swollen throat. "I'm not one of yours. You can't demand that I spy for you."

"I can demand what I wish," he grumbled, thick fingers tightening on her chin and making her flinch. "And you may deny what you wish. But all choices have consequences, _basalit-an."_

Her eyes narrowed at him and he continued, "You will find the location of the cells where four of our men are held, without reason, by your Chantry."

"How do you know-"

"We know when a fish smells of rot," he snapped, fingers tightening again. Hawke had to close her eyes past the pain blooming in her jaw. "You will do this quietly, and you will report to us in four days' time." He released her jaw roughly and she wavered, suddenly unmoored and uncoordinated without his assistance. "Your mother has a suitor, does she not?" he said as he stood and returned to his map.

"I -- what?" Hawke said quickly, blinking back her confusion. "What are you talking about?"

The Arishok was not looking at her - he seemed to have become very interested in a stack of scrolls. He sounded bored as he continued, "Your mother's suitor is a mage. An unshackled, unhinged mage. He plans her harm. You should be at your estate tomorrow evening."

Hawke's eyes widened and then narrowed. "Wait, what the fuck-"

"Your sister is also pursued," he continued as if his words were less interesting than the weather. "A mage within the Circle intends you harm; a woman you sent back to the Templars. She thinks she can hurt you through your sister. Which I assume is correct." He said it as if it was distasteful.

Hawke stumbled to her feet, swaying slightly, and glared at him. "How long have you known this?" When he didn't answer, she strode to the table with as much ferocity as she could muster, slamming her fist onto the map and knocking the markers askew. She stopped immediately, the anger clawing at her throat dying out in an instant. _Oh, Maker, Marian, what have you done this time?_

The reaction was swift. The Arishok had her by the throat again and dragged her up and over the table. The placards, just askew before, were sent crashing to the floor with ringing thuds. The map might have ripped, or perhaps it was Hawke's pant leg as it scraped over the rough-hewn table edge. Hawke gasped against his hold on her throat as he dragged her toward him. His free hand tossed her legs aside, his body pressing in against her, his breath hot on her face. There was a low, guttural noise coming from deep in his throat and, for reasons Hawke still could not understand, her body went to putty. He was so close to her that she could smell the strange spice of his skin and feel the intense heat radiating from him. "You play dangerous games, _basalit-an,"_ he whispered, voice like gravel scraping across her cheek.

"What other games are worth playing?" she returned, meeting his dark gaze and holding it. His hand on her throat wasn't squeezing this time, though she could feel his thumb aching to press down. His other palm was still on her thigh, so close to her apex that the realization made Hawke's mouth water.

They regarded one another for a few tense moments before the Arishok removed his hand from her thigh, and the other from her throat, and stepped back. "I will send someone for you in four days' time," he said. "Go."

Hawke swallowed, her eyes dropping as she slid off of the table and stretched, doing her best to feign indifference. "I won't spy for you," she said again, just in case he had somehow forgotten in the midst of his casual violence. "I'm not of the Qun. I'm not giving you information on the Chantry, the city, or anything else." The Arishok snarled and looked as though he might come for her again, but she added, "But I will look into your missing men and return them to you if I can."

He regarded her before making a noise of disgust. "Go."

Hawke, never one to make wise decisions, gave a mock bow, nice and deep, presenting the back of her neck, no doubt turning a deep purple with bruises. When she raised up, she found his eyes swimming in something. The usual hatred, yes, but something else.

She stepped out of the tent and wandered through the complex, swallowing down a smile. Desire. That was the other emotion. Desire. For her.

_Maker, Marian, what are you doing?_

 

* * *

 

Hawke awoke with a jolt, her heart hammering somewhere in her throat. She gulped at the air anxiously, her eyes scanning the room for an intruder she was sure had somehow snuck in. Her windows were closed and locked; she'd made sure the previous night when she'd stumbled home from Anders' clinic. Her closed bedroom door offered no further explanation for her sudden panicked wakeup.

She lowered herself back onto the pillows, letting out a huff of breath. She had been on edge all week. Between her run-in with the Arishok and his impossibly firm grip, finding his four scouts and rescuing them from a rogue templar, killing the disgusting creep who tried to lure her mother into a blood magic ritual, and requesting Cullen's assistance with Bethany's stalker, Grace, she'd been run ragged. Hawke's cuticles were showing signs of her stress, torn and blood-clotted as they were.

Not to mention that it had been six days since she had been to the compound. Hawke was beginning to wonder if she should make the trip there on her own, even though the Arishok had told her to wait for his escort. Perhaps in the morning, she reasoned, closing her eyes. In the morning she would go to the compound.

 

* * *

 

Hawke had not gone to the compound the next morning; in fact, she had forgotten all about it when an urgent letter came from Hubert, her partner in the Bone Pit business. She was quite tired of cleaning up the messes in the cursed mine, and cursed it had to be, but she liked the income Hubert pushed her way monthly, so she didn't complain much.

Even though she had to slog through scores of undead. And spiders. So many spiders. Hawke shuddered at the memory as Anders' gently glowing hand traced over the numerous nicks and bites dotting her torso.

"These will scar," he informed her as if the undead and spiders of unusual size hadn't mauled her before. "This one, especially. The Queen's doing, I assume."

Hawke made a noise of disquiet. She'd been trying not to think about the mother of all eight-legged demons. She glanced down at her lower abdomen and the two ragged, quickly-mending holes there.

"You know the process, what with how often you're dislocating it, but keep taking elfroot for your shoulder," he added absently, fingers stilling, splayed over her hip. "No more than one potion every four hours, Hawke. I mean it."

"Thanks, Anders," Hawke smirked, trying not to think about how the mage's hand had not moved from her bare side. "I'll try to keep my elfroot abuse to a minimum."

"Hawke," he began hesitantly, his eyes raising to meet hers. "I..." he let out a soft chuckle, glancing down at the carpet. "I worry about you. You've been too reckless recently. Surely you can take a few days' break before running head-long into the next fray?"

Hawke let out a little laugh, leaning back on her hands, the silky duvet under her fingers whispering with the motion. "My, my. If I didn't know better, I'd think you cared."

The blush that rose to his cheeks was swift and made Hawke's grin widen. She'd never get tired of teasing the man. Anders pulled his hands back and cleared his throat, muttering something about his patients and needing to get back to the clinic. He made use of her cellar exit that let out into Darktown, leaving Hawke finally, blessedly, alone.

She thought about checking in on her mother - the woman had been oddly jovial in spite of nearly dying for a blood magic ritual days ago. Perhaps it was because her neck was still intact. Perhaps because she needed to take her mind off of the fact that a man she trusted planned to kill her. Either way, Leandra Hawke was spending her time in the kitchen with Orana, cooking and singing and making light.

Hawke pulled herself off of the bed and sighed, glancing down at herself. Her breastband was still flecked with blood and growing stiff. Her breeches were stinking with spider guts, undead dust, and sweat. Her boots smelled like damp cave water.

She was a mess.

Groaning, unhappy about everything around her, Hawke exited her room to lean over the banister, calling out, "Bodahn! Could you and Sandal heat some water for a bath?"

"Of course, Mistress!" Bodahn called back. It sounded as if he was saying more in his ever-cheerful way, but Hawke had already turned on her heel to go back into her bedroom. A bath, a change of clothing, and then checking on her mother. Perhaps even making her way to the Gallows to see Bethany. And Cullen. Maker, she hated how adorable the templar was when embarrassed.

She idled in her bedroom, filling in her journal and wondering why she maintained the thing; most of her life was consumed by things she didn't want to remember. Even so, it was a habit Leandra had instilled in her from childhood. It was soothing in a way - the scratch of the quill always put her at ease, the scent of ink thick and cloying and comforting.

It had been close to an hour before Bodahn knocked on her door. "Mistress, your bath is ready!"

"Thanks, Bodahn," she called back, finishing the doodle she had been scratching onto the page she had just filled. It featured a poorly drawn spider with tiny fangs and tiny legs, its body too rotund to chase after human interlopers. She got to her feet and winced, her shoulder pinging in annoyance. She took an elfroot potion a little sooner than she should have, but the fuzzy feeling it elicited was a pleasant distraction.

She bathed languidly, sipping more elfroot as she did, and took her time to admire her new scars in the candlelight. Hawke would never admit it, but she was quite fond of the pearly marks that covered most of her body. They reminded her she was alive. What could be better than that?

 _A good fuck,_ her mind interrupted.

Hawke smirked slightly, shaking the thought away and getting out of the tub. She toweled off and redressed in a fresh breastband and smalls, slipping into her house robe and sauntering downstairs. She frowned at the sound of her mother's voice, pitchy and nervous, coming from the entryway. Hawke jogged down the stairs and into the airy hallway, her blood running cold at the sight of a qunari in her home.

"Oh, Marian, thank the Maker," Leandra breathed, stepping away from the qunari and toward her daughter. "He won't say anything; he just stands there!"

Hawke smiled tightly at her mother, touching the older woman's elbow. "It's fine, Mother, I have a meeting with the Arishok. This must be my escort."

"A meeting -- Marian, it's so late!" she exclaimed.

Hawke hadn't realized how much time had slipped by while she'd lounged in the tub, pleasantly buzzing from too much elfroot. She glanced out over the empty courtyard behind the qunari's sizeable bulk and sighed. "Give me a minute," she murmured to the qunari. She wasn't sure if he understood her - most qunari weren't too skilled at the common tongue - but he didn't stop her when she turned to go back upstairs.

When Hawke returned, it was in her light leathers over a plain tunic and breeches, an elfroot potion in hand. She uncorked it with her teeth and downed it, making her mother raise an eyebrow. "Are you hurt?" she asked, ever the mother.

"It's fine, Anders gave me the okay." She handed the empty vial to her mother and kissed her cheek. "Don't wait up, not sure how long this is going to take."

Leandra cast a suspicious glance toward the qunari. "The others are joining you?"

"Of course," she lied effortlessly. "Fenris, Anders, and Isabela."

Leandra pursed her lips but nodded tightly. "I will see you in the morning?"

"Yes, Mother." Hawke kissed Leandra's cheek again and offered her the best smile she could. "I'm taking a few weeks off after this, by the way. What do you say we take up Sebastian's offer to tour the countryside?"

Her mother beamed; Hawke knew that would work. "I'll begin packing." She squeezed Hawke's hand in hers. "Go on, now. I assume this Arishok isn't one you should keep waiting."

"True enough," Hawke sighed. "Goodnight, Mother." And then she was out of the door, following her escort through the mostly-empty corridors of Hightown. She didn't bother trying to speak to the qunari - such things never seemed to work out very well - and instead delighted in the light, floaty feeling in her toes and the tingle of the elfroot in her blood. Hawke thought about all of the ways she could abuse elfroot, now knowing how too much reacted in her system. It was as if the green herb stripped away all self-admonishment that usually kept her from being too reckless.

 _It is probably not good to be so flippant in front of the Arishok,_ her mind reminded her. But Hawke only smiled. What was he going to do, kill her?

_Maybe, you fucking idiot._

Once in the compound, Hawke was surprised to find it bustling with restless qunari, all of whom seemed caught between annoyance and heated disapproval of her arrival. She was used to the sideways glances, but the open hostility hadn't been so severe since she'd worked for the Arishok. The worry she'd been pushing aside tried to well up, to warn her, to trigger her flight response. But Hawke only grinned at all she passed, flippant and cool.

The qunari led her to a different tent, this one in the center of the compound. It was large, at least big enough to fit a quarter of the qunari in the compound, and harsh tones were coming from inside. Hawke swallowed, her flight response trying to swim forward and scream at her. But she pushed through the flap and into the tent, accosted with blinding light from the staggering number of torches and candles flickering through the room.

There were only five qunari inside the tent - four of whom were in the corner to the far left. The fifth, the Arishok, sat at the head of a table directly in front of her, his fingers steepled, mouth drawn into an angry line.

_Oh shit._

Hawke dropped into a mock bow, smirking up at him. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about our date. I'm not used to being stood up."

The talk from the corner died down, eyes turning to her, regarding her coolly. She tried not to focus on it, her gaze never leaving the Arishok's.

The Arishok said nothing for a long while, choosing to instead scan over her body as if assessing a prized halla. He glanced away from her finally and nodded to three elves in the corner closest to Hawke. They arranged themselves on the floor, picking up lutes and a viol. The music was lovely, but it only made Hawke's lightheadedness heighten. _Andraste's tits, what is even happening?_ she wondered briefly before the Arishok finally spoke.

"The _v_ _iddathari_ tell me that your kind likes this... this music," he said, his open disdain evident with each word. "Does this please you?"

Hawke swallowed. She was in an unusual territory and her palms prickled with sweat. "I tend to prefer things a bit more raucous, personally, but this is rather pleasant," she answered carefully. "I thought the Qun did not abide by music."

"You claim to know anything about the Qun?"

 _Wrong answer, Marian. Wrong fucking answer._ She cleared her throat and stepped forward tentatively. When no one moved for their weapons, she approached more confidently. So confidently, that Hawke found her thighs pressing against the table the Arishok was sitting at, reaching for a goblet and a pitcher of something that smelled like the forests around Lothering. "May I?"

The Arishok grunted something. Hawke wasn't sure if it was an affirmative or not, but she took it to be. She poured a generous amount of the drink - some kind of wine, from what she could tell - into her goblet and drank it in one long pull. She refilled the chalice a second time, nodding. "Good stuff. I didn't think the Qun liked drunkness, either." _Maker, why are you doing this?_

"Drunkenness, no," the Arishok allowed, pursing his lips at her. "We do not succumb to excess. Something that cannot be said for the _bas_ you associate with."

"I'm not a shining example of sobriety, either," she murmured before downing her second glass and filling a third. Her head was swimming pleasantly, the combination of thick wine and elfroot-high making everything soft around the edges.

Before Hawke could pour a fourth glass, the Arishok took the pitcher away, his frown deepening. "The scouts have returned. They say you killed a templar and many zealots."

Hawke shrugged as if it was nothing, setting the empty goblet down on the table. "Another day in the life of Marian Hawke." She glanced at the four qunari in the corner, at their unwavering attention, and realized with a start that they were the ones she and her companions saved. "Oh," she murmured, not sure why she said it aloud.

"Though you are _basalit-an,_ you did not need to save them. You did not need to turn on your own."

"The Chantry is not my own," she said firmly.

His head twitched downward just enough to concede to her words. "Even so, you help the Qun though you do not follow. There would be great honor for you if you chose to submit."

Hawke swallowed thickly. The wine was muddling her thoughts. She was pretty sure he had just asked her to convert to the Qun - but that would make less than no sense. He hated her. She opened her mouth to respond, to come up with some way to gracefully decline and get out of the room before they could run her through with any number of large weapons. Instead, what came out of her mouth was, "There's only one kind of submitting I do, Arishok, and it has nothing to do with religion."

She expected his fury - his hand on her neck, hot breath on her face. But he simply stared at her, blinking balefully. "There is food for you," he finally said, motioning to the table closest to the four qunari. "My scouts wished to... thank you."

Hawke narrowed her eyes. None of this made sense. "Are you trying to kill me?"

The qunari in the corner snorted as if one, their voices melding together as they spoke in Qunlat to one another. The Arishok silenced them with a look. "If we intended to kill you, you would be dead."

She supposed she couldn't argue with him and sighed, glancing toward the food. There was more there than she could every possibly eat, and she wasn't even hungry, but she decided it might be best not to tempt fate. She'd insulted them enough over the course of ten minutes; any more and she probably would end up dead. "I tend not to like eating alone," she said as she moved toward the table, picking apart pieces of roasted duck, steamed vegetables, and a few fruits she didn't recognize.

Her words were met with no response, not that she expected one. She loitered near the table, awkwardly eating from a huge golden plate while being very conscious of five pairs of eyes on her, unblinking, unwavering. She finished eating in a matter of minutes, trying to finish the food as quickly as possible to get out of the compound.

Before she could run, though, one of the qunari pulled himself from the group and approached her, his body rippling as he did. Hawke tried not to stare at his coppery pectorals, covered only with red vitaar, but it was a losing battle. The qunari paused just short of her, reaching past her hip to take up a pitcher of the wine. He poured her a glass and handed it to her, wordless, his face a blank canvas she couldn't read.

Hawke glanced at the Arishok, at his unmoving face, and then back at the qunari. "Thanks," she said hesitantly, taking the goblet. Her fingers brushed his, the thick digits like fire against hers. She drank the wine, anxiousness fluttering in her belly, her eyes never leaving the qunari's. He was still in front of her, standing so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him. When she finished her glass, he poured her another. And then another. Hawke put the goblet aside, offering the qunari what she hoped was a confident grin; she was guessing it was more sloppy and possibly accompanied by some drool. She was fairly sure she was descending into drunkenness by the way she was suddenly swaying, using the table against her thigh to keep herself upright.

"We must speak of our arrangement," the Arishok interrupted languidly.

Hawke tore her eyes from the qunari in front of her. "I'm not spying."

"So you say," he grumbled in response, turning his chair slightly to face her. "There are other ways to pay a debt."

The qunari in front of her said something in the halting language of his people, staring her down as if trying to see through her skin and into her beating heart and thumping veins.

"He can taste your desire," the Arishok said. Whether he was translating or stating, Hawke wasn't sure.

"He needs to get his tongue checked, then," was Hawke's knee-jerk response. One of the qunari in the corner let out a sharp bark of laughter, a single loud burst, and the Arishok scowled at him. Hawke shifted on her feet, almost stumbling, and said, "I should get home. If I leave my mother alone long enough, she might find herself another murderous beau." She winced at her own words. Why was she such a bitch when she drank?

Before she could move, the qunari grabbed her arm. His grip was like iron and Hawke turned wide eyes from the qunari to the Arishok. "I thought you said I wasn't about to get murdered."

The qunari holding her said something and the Arishok murmured, "Murder is not the intention, _basalit-an."_

Hawke opened her mouth to argue, tensed her fist to yank free, but the qunari pulled her toward the others, and she stumbled after him. Her head was pounding with blood, with the sharp taste of wine in her mouth. The music from the other corner was making her wince. It was too severe, too fast. She pitched toward the floor, but the qunari snorted and grabbed her waist, hefting her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. He retook his place on the floor with the others, Hawke in his lap and breathing heavily.

"Andraste's sogging knickers, what-"

One of the other qunari touched her hair, murmuring something. The others laughed, fingers caressing roughly over her hair, her arms, her waist. She swallowed, blinking back her confusion, and met the Arishok's unwavering gaze. "So, I am supposed to be a sex toy for your men now? You should have led with that, Arishok, and I might have been a more willing ally." _Maker, your bravado is going to get you killed._

"That would please you?" he asked, voice a deep rumble that shot through her and settled directly in her abdomen. "To be  
_tamassran?"_

Hawke didn't know the word, unsurprisingly, but from the reaction of the qunari around her, she had some idea. She shifted in the first qunari's lap, becoming painfully aware of stirrings within his trousers. She tried to tell herself that the feeling in her abdomen had something to do with too much rich food, or wine, or abused elfroot. "I assume I would need to be Qunari to be tam... tama... that."

"True," he conceded, but his lips might have curled up into the closest thing she'd seen to a smile. "You would not be allowed to bear children. To name them. To shape our youth. You would simply be another _viddathari_ on her back." He might have caught Hawke's soft noise because he pressed, "This does not seem to cause discomfort for you."

"I'm not _Viddathari,"_ she breathed.

The Arishok glanced at the others, saying something in Qunlat. Whatever he said made the four men withdraw their hands from her, and she was suddenly unburdened. "Go," he said simply, turning his gaze from her to the untouched plate in front of him.

Hawke blinked, surprised and confused - and a bit hurt, she was surprised to find. The groping and fondling she was used to - another perk of being a semi-attractive woman who spent too much time drinking and giving in to disgusting degenerates just to fill the loneliness. Hawke kept thinking she would eventually get the hang of being a human; stop drinking, stop sleeping around, stop making everyone worry. But it seemed that point had not arrived yet because Hawke smirked and turned in the qunari's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his.

The response was immediate. His hands were on her waist, tugging at her leathers. The others arrived to help, stripping Hawke's outer layers with no difficulty despite her flailing attempts to give them access while not breaking from her tongue-fight with the first qunari.

One of the qunari tugged her away, hands rough on her arm. Her previously-dislocated shoulder pinged angrily, but Hawke ignored it, seeking out the other qunari's mouth, her hands sliding over his chest and lower, struggling with the laces of his trousers. The others had surrounded her, mouths finding every free stretch of skin, hands tugging her tunic up and over her, unwinding her breast band, and untying her breeches.

Hawke broke free of the qunari's mouth, gasping for breath. One of the qunari - Hawke wasn't sure which, everything was so hazy and all she could hear was the blood rushing through her ears - took a nipple in their mouth and she mewled in pleasure, eyes roving toward the Arishok. He was watching her intently.

She smirked at him and, never learning a lesson to save her own skin, murmured, "I always thought you were more talk than action. You need your underlings to do everything for you?"

The Arishok was on his feet in an instant and the qunari surrounding her broke away quickly. "Out," he snapped. Hawke, assuming he meant her, got to her feet and reached for her tunic. But the Arishok was striding toward her, ripping the tunic from her hands. Eyes never leaving hers, he snapped something in Qunlat. The _v_ _iddathari_ and other qunari left immediately.

Hawke opened her mouth - to say what she still wasn't sure - but the Arishok's hand was on her neck before she could. "You mock me at every turn."

Hawke swallowed. He wasn't pressing in, not yet, but she could feel the sharp curve of his nail on her throat. "I do it to everyone, I wouldn't take it personally," she breathed.

The Arishok's nose scrunched in a snarl. He pushed her and she teetered, falling back onto the cushions the qunari had been occupying. She sprawled there on her back, staring up at him, and finally felt the fear she'd been searching for since meeting the massive qunari.

And desire.

He leaned over her, hands roughly removing her boots and ripping her breeches off in one sharp tug. Hawke let out a shuddering breath, everything within her screaming for her to run before it was too late. But when would it ever be too late? When would Hawke finally be forced to regret her actions? When the Arishok choked the life from her?

The Arishok's hands reached for her smalls but she grabbed his arms roughly, attempting to pull him down to her. He barely budged under her force but took pity and lowered himself above her, his arms to either side of hers, supporting his weight. His face was so close that she could smell the wine on him.

"I knew you couldn't resist me," Hawke murmured with a smirk, unable to help herself.

The Arishok growled, his mouth pressing down against hers harshly, teeth grazing her lower lip as his tongue slid past her lips. He was gruff and unyielding in his attack on her mouth, but Hawke melted into it, her arms wrapping around his neck, nails scratching across the thick ridge of muscle on his upper back.

When he pulled away from her, it was to heft her hips up with one hand and to slide her smalls off with the other. His mouth flowed down her body, leaving a trail of fire as it descended to her breasts, his teeth grazed across her nipples. She writhed in the sharp, painful perfection. Her hands slid up to the most significant set of his horns, gripping them, and he growled against her skin. Hawke heard the warning in it but only smiled, clutching a little tighter and bucking her hips against his stomach.

"Release me."

"Make me."

The Arishok moved too quickly for her to follow. His hands slapped hers aside and pinned them. He leaned in, putting more weight on her slender wrists, and she hissed in pain. "You will obey, or you will be hurt."

"Are you threatening me, Arishok?" she murmured, her grin widening.

"I do not threaten, I warn." And with that he moved down her body again, releasing her wrists as his teeth found the small roundness of her abdomen, teeth scraping across the sensitive skin where the queen spider's bite had left twin holes, newly scarred. Hawke reared back at the touch, at the slight flare of pain, and the Arishok hesitated. His teeth moved over the scar again and she whimpered, not sure if it was more of pain or excitement.

"This is fresh," he murmured, pulling back slightly to look at the scars. His hands roughly moved across her body, touching and analyzing each scar, every pockmark, each freckle and birthmark. "You have many. You have the signs of war on your body."

"I wouldn't go that far," she replied, trying to feign flippancy. She'd never had someone look at her the way he was looking at her. "Sometimes I let my guard down and I pay for it."

"I see this in you. I see it in you now."

Hawke felt her smile faltering. The banter was fun enough, she supposed, but the Arishok was not lashing out at her and he wasn't fucking her - the lack of both was becoming unbearable. "Are you planning on doing more than talking, or do I need to finish by myself?"

That did it. The Arishok gripped her waist and tugged her down, her thighs spreading painfully wide to allow him between them. There was hatred burning in his eyes, but the hunger was beginning to win out. His hand roughly pressed against Hawke's sex, a thick finger shoving into her with no warning or delicacy. Hawke yelped, involuntarily trying to slide away from him, but his free hand yanked her back.

The pain was gone quickly, replaced by eyelid-fluttering pleasure. The Arishok wasn't necessarily good at what he did, but he was dedicated and controlling. Sometimes that was all Hawke needed; she was a simple girl with simple needs, after all. A second finger slid into her with difficulty and she whined, her hips stilling for a moment before returning to their grinding.

He pulled out of her abruptly and narrowed his eyes. Hawke thought he might say something to her, thought he might try giving her another out, but he simply stared. Hawke bit her tongue, not uttering the expletives or insults she wanted to hurl. Her eyes traveled down to his breeches and her breath hitched. "Maker's balls," she whispered, shaking her head. There was no way that thing was going to fit inside of her, not if the bulge running down his pant leg was any indication.

The Arishok smirked at her, actually smirked, as he unlaced his breeches and pushed them down his thick thighs. He removed them with ease in spite of his position on his knees, his cock bobbing out, finally free.

Hawke swallowed. He wasn't fully hard and he was still a behemoth. She opened her mouth to tell him that he would cleave her in half before he even made it inside, but the words died on her lips when he took his shaft in hand and began to rub the strangely shaped, bulbous head across her clit. Hawke gasped and groaned, her body betraying her, moving closer to the heat of him.

"You will not enjoy this," he said simply, honestly.

Hawke snorted. "You keep putting this on me, but you're the one who keeps making excuses."

The Arishok snarled at her and flipped her onto her belly, forcing a yelp from her. He closed her thighs and positioned his legs outside of hers. He said nothing else; he simply shoved himself inside of her.

She wasn't ready for it. She was fairly sure he'd torn something, that she was probably bleeding, that she might literally die from the abuse he would inflict on her. The Arishok had been completely right - she was not going to enjoy it. Not like this. She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered into the cushion, preparing for him to slam into her, to make her regret every choice that led to that moment.

But he didn't. The Arishok waited, his cock pulsing inside of her. When he did begin moving, it was slow. One of his hands slid from her hip around to her clit, rubbing roughly and making her jolt, pushing back into his cock. Hawke let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She was loosening around him and with every stroke he made into her, the easier it became.

Within moments, Hawke found herself actually enjoying the sensation of being filled to her absolute breaking point. The Arishok seemed to have a sixth sense; he sped up exactly when she began feeling more comfortable, consistently making her toe the line between enjoyment and torture.

Hawke, panting, pushed herself upward, her back flush with the Arishok's chest, an arm wrapping around the back of his nape, drawing his face to the crook of her neck. He dutifully ran his mouth along her jugular, teeth bearing down - not enough to break skin, but certainly enough to bruise.

"Harder," she wheezed.

His jaws tightened, holding the flesh.

"Harder!" she snapped, nails gripping tightly into his neck, hoping she drew blood.

The Arishok bit down and Hawke shouted, eyes clouding with pain. He held her there for a moment before licking the hot droplets of blood trickling down to her shoulder. His pace sped up and Hawke keened, her abdomen tightening, the flame inside of her stoking. "Harder," she whimpered.

The Arishok shoved her down into the cushions and gripped her in both hands, nails digging into the soft flesh of her hips. His pelvis slammed against her, the sound of their bodies making obscene, wet noises with each pass. Hawke closed her eyes tightly, biting her tongue past the orgasm trying to swell around her. It was too much; the feeling was too much. But she couldn't give him the satisfaction. She couldn't -

A thick finger glided across her thigh, wet with her fluids, before shoving itself into her ass. She yelped and bucked, her climax enveloping her, leaving her shouting incoherently into the cushion, tears slipping from her eyes. The waves took what felt like minutes to roll out of her, to finally release her, to give her a moment to breathe.

The Arishok had stopped moving and Hawke thought she might have heard a pained groan from him past the thumping of her heart in her ears. He slipped his finger out of her, and then his cock, and reached down to turn her over. She looked up at him, trying to seem unaffected but knowing her face was blotchy and tear-streaked, lips parted in a half-dazed euphoria. Even so, she had an image to protect. "Done so soon?" she breathed.

His hand was on her throat, pressing in, making her gasp. "If I were to use the force I wished, _Serah_ Hawke, I would have killed you before we had even begun."

He tossed one of her legs up against his body and straddled her other thigh, shoving himself into her while holding her throat. He pumped into her without grace or decorum; his pace was faster than before, her orgasm giving more lubrication for the attack. It felt as if he was laying siege to her from the inside out.

Not that Hawke minded at all. She groaned and bucked against him, her hands touching every part of him, and herself, that she could reach. She watched his eyes, clouded with lust, and smirked. She knew her smirk did terrible things to him.

His hand tightened around her throat and she wheezed past it, eyelids fluttered. She'd never been into breath play before, she mused, but there was something very different about being held down by a qunari. By a being so strong he could crush her without a single thought.

The Arishok began to lose pace, his breathing hitching, and Hawke watched his lips curl into a snarl, his brow furrowing. He was like her, Hawke realized. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeming to enjoy it.

Hawke bit her lower lip and reached up to him, drawing him down to her. His hand slid from her neck and her leg fell to his hip. Their mouths met and Hawke nipped his lower lip, whispering, "Next time, I'm on top."

The Arishok grunted into her mouth and his body seized above hers, hips stuttering. Hawke could feel his cock pulsing inside of her as he released, Qunlat spilling from his lips in long, stuttering strings.

Hawke had never wished to know another language as much as she did then.

He slumped on his arms above her, catching his breath, before pulling away. His come-covered cock slid out of her slowly, still impressive even while deflated. She had no doubt they had ruined the cushion beneath her if the river between her legs was to be trusted. Not to mention the congealing blood tightening the skin around her throat.

"Well," she murmured, sitting up.

He narrowed his eyes at her as he relaced his breeches. "More insults?"

"No," she said with a little shrug, leaning back on her arms. "Not an insult. I'm just surprised; I assumed Qunari would have outstanding stamina. I guess not everything you hear in gossip is true."

The Arishok made a noise deep in the back of his throat that sent a thrill straight to Hawke's clit. "That was merely foreplay. You are not ready for what I need."

Hawke hated how much the taunt made her tingle. "Well, I assume I would be a terrible tama... whatever."

 _"Tamassran,"_ he supplied with little emotion in his voice. He went to the table and picked pieces of duck from the breast, eating without a care, dropping flecks of meat to the floor. She supposed he could do that, being Arishok. "Yes."

Hawke was suddenly and overwhelmingly embarrassed by his words. "Well, then I suppose it's a good thing I am not of the Qun."

He glanced at her, putting another strip of duck meat to his lips. Maker, she wanted to be that piece of duck. "You are too tight," he continued. "You would need too much recovery between sessions."

Hawke stood, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. The Arishok watched her move, of course, but his placid face gave nothing away. She began to collect her clothing, struggling into her tight breeches and leathers with shaky limbs. Once fully dressed, her eyes met his. "I guess we'll need to work on that, then."

His gaze did not falter. "You presume much, _basalit-an."_

Hawke shrugged, sauntering toward the tent flaps. She paused at the opening, though, and glanced back. "Tomorrow, same time?"

His lips curled up into a smirk or a snarl - she wasn't sure. "One day, Hawke, I will hold your neck in hand and watch the life leave your eyes."

"Maybe it'll be your neck in my hands," she replied, slipping out of the tent before he could notice that it took all of her will to keep from limping.

 _Maker, those stairs,_ Hawke groaned, already regretting that she didn't ask for a bed for the night. The Arishok's bed, preferably. _Damnit, Marian. What are you getting yourself into?_

Hopefully the Arishok's bed. Hopefully again and again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A long night spent with your most obvious weaknesses -  
>  You start shaking at the thought.  
> You are everything I want,  
> Because you are everything I'm not._   
>  [-"MakeDamnSure," by Taking Back Sunday.](https://open.spotify.com/track/48O6kz322Dzu1R6Al5147q)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
> Please enjoy!

* * *

 

 

Hawke was quite honestly amazed at the fact she had made it to Darktown before her knees began to weaken. She was suddenly acutely aware that she had failed to bring her daggers with her to the compound - a stupid fucking mistake for a stupid fucking girl. She tried not to berate herself too much, not until safely tucked away in Anders' clinic.

Maker, she needed to stop being so dumb.

Maker, she needed a drink.

 _Drinking helped get you into this mess,_ she reminded herself absently as she stumbled through the cramped alleys, dodging groping hands and errant piss streams like she was paid to do it. Her thighs were raw, scraping painfully across her breeches and tight leathers, making her wince with every step.

But she kept moving - what else could she do? When she finally came to Anders' clinic, the doors were closed and bolted, the lamp extinguished. She sagged against the wood, rapping it with her knuckles. "Anders!" she shouted as loudly as she could past her swollen, abused throat. "Fucking balls -- _Anders!"_

The door swung open and Hawke fell through it, Anders' body the only thing keeping her from hitting the ground. "Maker, Hawke!" he breathed, his arms around her waist, dragging her inside. "What happened?" he demanded. Before she could answer, he puffed a disbelieving breath and continued, "Did I not _just_ tell you to take a break from running head-long into trouble? Was that not yesterday?"

Hawke would have tried to joke, but her body was so thankful to have someone else supporting it that she couldn't think past the heaviness in her limbs and lids. "I need to sleep," she mumbled as he helped her onto one of the uncomfortable wooden examination tables. "I'm fine. Just sleep."

"Fine?" he repeated incredulously. His hair, unbound and tousled with sleep, stuck out around his face in ragged blonde spikes. "You're bleeding from a wound on your neck and your breeches are filthy with...." He trailed off, eyes widening. "Marian. What happened?"

But Hawke's eyes were sliding closed, her body finally at rest. She barely noticed as he sat her up to remove her leathers and clothing, leaving her in her smalls and breastband. His hands were a soothing, comforting weight as they moved down her body, checking for injuries.

"Who did this?" Anders finally asked, his voice choked with emotion. When she didn't reply, too exhausted for words, Anders sent a small shock of electricity through her, making her jolt. _"Who?"_

"Andraste's ass, Anders, who taught you bedside manner?" she demanded, the electric current tingling in her toes and fingertips. At his stern, unmoving expression, she sighed. "Nothing happened, it's fine, I just need some rest and maybe an elfroot potion." She thought for a moment. "Or four."

Anders' throat bobbed with the force of his angry swallowing. "You come here in the middle of the night, covered in bruises, and tell me _it is fine?_ You have a bite mark on your neck that looks like a wild animal attacked you and-" he broke off, swallowing again. "Were you raped?"

"No," she sighed, leaning back on the wood and covering her eyes with the bend of her elbow. Maker, she should have never come here. She should have climbed the stairs through the cellar entrance and crawled into bed.

Maker, more stairs, though.

"Then what happened? Because  _this,"_ he gestured at her blood-blushed thighs, "is not something healthy relationships consist of."

Hawke uncovered her eyes and glanced at him. "You really don't want the details, I promise. But if it makes you feel better, Anders, I was a completely willing victim of this horror show."

Anders pursed his lips. "It was Fenris, wasn't it." It was less of a question and more of a statement.

Hawke sat up on her elbows quickly. A faint blue glow was taking over his eyes and twinkled across his fingertips. "Sodding knickers -- _no,_ Anders, it wasn't Fenris. It wasn't anyone you know... personally." His eyebrows rose, and she glowered. "Can you do something about Justice? And these injuries. Or do I need to lie here and die from blood loss?"

"Ever dramatic," he mumbled, the blue fading as his hands went to her neck first. "This will scar."

"I know," she murmured, leaning back on the table again and closing her eyes. She did her best not to sound too pleased at the thought of another scar, particularly a qunari bite to her neck, but she evidently failed. Anders groaned, sounding both put-off and angered by it. Even so, his hands soothed the aches in her body, and she drifted to sleep listening to Anders muttering under his breath as he worked.

 

* * *

 

Hawke had slipped out of Anders' clinic early in the morning before he woke. She knew he hated accepting her money, but she tucked a few sovereigns away on his desk, along with a note. _Don't tell anyone or I will test out my theories on separating spirits from human hosts._

She was mostly joking. Mostly.

Hawke slipped into the estate through the servants' quarters by way of the cellar. She moved as quickly and quietly as possible; in spite of Anders' superb healing abilities, her thighs and pelvis still felt as though she had been run down by an entire battalion of horses. The big ones they bred in Redcliffe.

Even though she was in before the sun, her mother was awake and waiting for her by the roaring fireplace. She turned at the sound of the door clicking closed, eyes narrowing. "Marian Hawke, where have you-" she trailed off, her look of anger morphing to one of horror as she took in Hawke's appearance. "Maker, what happened? Oh, Marian, we need to call a doctor, or a healer, or-" she exclaimed, rushing Hawke. Her hand fluttered uselessly around her grimacing daughter.

"Everything is fine, Mother," she tried to soothe her. "It looks much worse than it is. I went to Anders' clinic and he patched me up."

It was not the comforting statement she had intended, though, for Leandra Hawke's eyes widened. "What happened? I thought you were meeting with the Qunari leader? I thought the others were with you!"

Hawke tried to come up with an acceptable story, but her mother's eyes became slits. "Marian Hawke, you had better not lie to me. I know that look."

Hawke winced. "The others weren't there, but everything is fine. This wasn't... it's not what it looks like." She winced again. "Just... please don't let it worry you - and for the love of the Maker, stop asking about it."

Leandra's eyes swept over Hawke's disheveled appearance. Her lips pursed; the look of realization that passed over her face made Hawke's palms prickle with sweat. Instead of more questions, Leandra murmured, "I will assume it has something to do with the scar on your neck, then. It wasn't there just last night."

Hawke refrained from covering the bite mark and met her mother's gaze. She said nothing but leaned in to kiss her mother's cheek. "I need a bath and sleep."

Leandra sighed, the all-suffering one she always used on Hawke, and crossed her arms. "Orana will draw the water. Take a nap; she will wake you when it is ready." As Hawke moved toward the staircase, trying not to limp so visibly and failing, Leandra called after her, "I hope you know what fire you are playing with, Marian. And I had better not lose my eldest daughter in childbirth when she gives life to a horned baby."

Hawke winced, pausing on the fifth step and wavering for a moment. She didn't look back as she said airily, "I have no idea what you mean."

Leandra snorted, heading toward the kitchen. "I know that look, and I know that voice. You are a terrible liar, just like your father."

Hawke let out a breath and ascended the stairs, wishing, not for the first time, that her mother wasn't such an early riser. Or eerily perceptive. Or always right.

 

* * *

 

Hawke awoke with a pounding pain in her head. As she slowly regained full consciousness, the other hurts began to add up. Her shoulder, still tender from being dislocated for the seventh time in her life, was screaming at her. She was sure her night with the Arishok hadn't helped it much. Her core felt as though she had suffered blunt-force trauma by way of her cunt. Not entirely inaccurate, and that also could be blamed on the Arishok.

"Horned bastard," she grumbled, wincing as she stood. She opened the bottom drawer of her bureau, pulling out an elfroot potion and swigging it. After a moment, she grabbed a second and downed it before she wandered into the main room and, past that, the kitchen. She found her mother sitting at the long table in the middle of the room, mixing a salad and speaking animatedly with Sebastian.

Hawke swallowed past the pit in her stomach. Sebastian. The Chantry brother was Leandra's favorite among Hawke's friends - _Such a sweet boy,_ she would gush after each interaction with him. _Oh, darling, and he adores you so! You should ask him over to dinner. You aren't getting any younger, and he is so kind and gentle._

Hawke had wanted to tell Leandra all about Sebastian's sordid past of working girls and drugs. At the same time, she needed to have Leandra approve of at least one of her companions. She liked Varric and Aveline well enough, but Leandra was on the prowl to secure Hawke a husband. Leandra, for all of her virtues, was intent on finding Hawke a _nice human boy_ to spend her life and money on.

"Hawke," Sebastian greeted her, his pale eyes lighting up. He stood and pulled a stool out for her. "I was just solidifying plans with your mother."

"Plans?" Hawke repeated, not making a move to enter the room. The elfroot was beginning to buzz, and all Hawke wanted to do was devour as much food as she could stomach in silence.

Sebastian flushed, and Leandra blanched. "Darling, the tour through the countryside. Remember?"

Hawke ran a hand through her hair, trying to focus. "Of course, yes, I just... it's a bit late in the year, isn't it? I can't imagine riding through this cold weather for days at a time."

"The carriage with stay rather warm with the three of us," Sebastian offered. She could tell he was trying not to appear hurt at her sudden reluctance. "And, if we leave within the next week, we can avoid the early snows."

Hawke opened her mouth and then closed it. She wasn't sure what to say to get out of her predicament. How did Hawke admit that she possibly had a standing reservation with the leader of the Qunari military forces? A standing reservation for the most knee-shattering, painful, fantastic sex she had ever had.

 _Horned bastard,_ she thought venomously, looking between her mother and Sebastian. "I, ah-"

"Marian, might I speak with you?" her mother said sternly, getting up from the table and marching toward her. The look on Leandra's face reminded Hawke of being a small, mud-spattered child destined for a spanking.

Leandra grabbed Hawke's elbow and practically dragged her into the main room, startling a surprised _woof_ from Chip. "Marian, what do you think you're doing?"

"What?" Hawke sputtered, pulling her arm out of her mother's grip. "You're the one dragging people out of rooms!"

"That boy in there is besotted with you," Leandra whispered harshly. "He is handsome, he is kind, and he _loves_ you. What else could you ask for?"

"A mother who doesn't plan my life, perhaps?" Hawke muttered before she could think twice about it. She winced at the aghast look on Leandra's face. "I didn't mean -- shit," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I only meant that I have no intentions of thinking about marriage right now. Maker, I can't even think about having a real _relationship_ right now."

Leandra pursed her lips and looked back toward the kitchen. "We are going on this trip, Marian. In four days." She stared at her pointedly. "Yes?"

Hawke sighed. "Yes."

Leandra nodded, pleased, and said, "Well, come in for dinner."

"I have dinner plans with Varric," Hawke said quickly, pointing absently over her shoulder. "I'm already late."

Leandra sighed and turned toward the kitchen. "I do not know why you insist on trying this tactic, Marian."

Hawke looked over at Chip, at how the mabari was giving her something akin to a doggy stinkeye. _"I know,"_ she muttered defensively to the hound and he wagged his stubby tail at her. She needed to have Varric teach her the gilded tongue thing. Being a decent liar would make her life much easier.

Hawke went back to her bedroom, glancing through her wardrobe for something appropriately enticing to wear to her date. _Horned bastard,_ she thought to herself with a small smirk.

 

* * *

 

The streets were darkening and emptying when Hawke finally left the estate, pulling her thick wool cloak around her. It was possibly one of Hawke's favorite items to wear, handmade for her by Merrill. It was lovingly stitched, although the seams were crooked and the hood was massive enough to cover Hawke's entire face twice-over. Even so, it was quite dramatic looking when she swished it around, which slightly made up for the fact that it was damn near impossible to get to her daggers in a timely manner.

 _I should visit Merrill,_ Hawke thought absently, her feet hesitating as she entered Lowtown. The girl was probably still tinkering with her creepy mirror. Hawke grimaced, wondering how much she was going to regret helping Merrill secure the tools to repair it. And then she wondered how much she was going to regret all of the choices she'd made so far in her life.

Hawke thought of turning her path toward the Alienage, knowing Merrill would be thrilled to see her in the cloak. But she would also be panicked at not having proper food or beverages. Or a warm place to sit. Merrill's shoddy little home got so cold....

 _I should offer for her to move in,_ Hawke thought absently as she changed direction away from the Alienage. _It's not as if I don't have the room, and Mother could use the company. Chip likes her._

 _Maybe I'll ask tomorrow,_ she thought, drawing her hood up around her face as she made her way toward the docks. It wasn't as though she hadn't been to the compound a hundred times after dark, but suddenly there was a sense of foreboding about it. She was fairly sure that fucking the leader of the reviled Qunari forces would be frowned upon among literally every other person in Kirkwall. Including the Arishok's men, evidently.

When Hawke arrived at the gate, pushing her hood back far enough for her blue eyes to catch the firelight, the four guards snarled at her as they opened the gate. She swallowed down the urge to grapple in her cloak for her daggers, but no one made a move toward her. Hawke tried to relax as she moved further into the compound, skirting cooking fires and tents.

When she finally made her way to the central tent, the one she became intimately familiar with the previous week, Hawke loitered outside of the flaps, not sure what to do. Did she announce herself? Did she wait? Did she barge in?

 _Don't be stupid,_ her mind offered, but it was a meek suggestion. If anyone knew how stupid Hawke could be, and would be, it was her mind.

Hawke pushed back the tent flap and sauntered inside as if invited. The Arishok was at his table, sitting on a stool that didn't look as though it could support his weight, poring over a tome. He did not look up at her, but said, "You are late."

Hawke pushed her hood down, fingers reaching for the dragon clasp of her cloak before pausing, grinning. "Well, if that is how you plan to greet me, I might as well go back home. At least there I have food, wine, and a handsome man thrilled at the prospect of getting me into bed with him."

The jab didn't even phase the qunari. He flipped a page, eyes scanning over the words. "Go."

Hawke hadn't expected that. She stood there in front of him, ready and waiting, and he hadn't looked up at her once. She had come all the way to the docks for him, and he couldn't even glance up from his book. She'd upset her mother and blown off a visit to her poor, lonely friend in the Alienage. For him.

"I don't think I will," she replied airily, the sudden fury clawing at her throat tasting like blood. She unclasped her cloak and folded it neatly, draping it across a chest beside the exit. Hawke leaned back on one leg, crossing her arms, and regarded him, waiting.

But the Arishok did nothing. He didn't grunt a response, and he didn't fly at her like a rabid animal.

Hawke pursed her lips. "Perhaps you can show me to your second-in-command's tent, then."

He glanced up at her, but he looked oddly bored. He met her eyes, not bothering to look over her choice of attire - a tightly-fitted black tunic, perfect for hiding bloodied bite marks, with a plunging neckline that accented the small amount of cleavage she had. Completing the outfit were black breeches so tight she thought she might have needed some kind of spell to fit into them, and the knee-high boots Isabela had bought for her when the weather turned cold. She looked good. She looked better than good.

All he looked was annoyed.

The Arishok startled her by shouting something. The tent flap behind her parted suddenly, and one of his men lumbered in. They exchanged words - more accurately, the Arishok growled words at the grunt, and the grunt snorted back a response.

Hawke bit her lower lip and smirked, sure that the Arishok was informing his lackey that they were not to be disturbed. But then the lackey took her arm and roughly began to pull her from the tent.

"Wait, what?" Hawke asked, eyes widening. "Hey! What the fuck?!"

She was tugged into another tent before she could grapple for her daggers one-handed. The qunari holding her tossed her to the ground, glowering, and said in broken common, "Stay. Come for later."

Hawke's eyes narrowed, but she didn't bother questioning him. The qunari apparently didn't know much in the way of her language, and she hated repeating herself. So she sat there on the floor, still sprawled unceremoniously, until the lackey left.

"Maker's saggy balls," she grumbled, picking herself up and dusting off her breeches. "Asshole still has my cloak."

Before she could march out of the tent and get her cloak, the tent flaps parted. The qunari who stepped through was one she had seen beside the Arishok on many occasions.

His second in command, she realized. "Oh," she said aloud, confused at the turn of events.

The qunari furrowed his brow at her but said nothing.

Hawke bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn't fathom how few fucks the Arishok gave about her. She had anticipated it, of course - he had all but said it to her face. But somehow, for some dumb reason, Hawke hadn't expected him to be this uncaring. "I think your Arishok is having a meeting. I'm just... waiting for him."

The qunari muttered and stepped toward her. Hawke resisted the urge to back up, to show fear, but she quickly regretted her bravado. The qunari reached for her daggers, tossing them away without a care. His hands found her tunic and began tugging at the laces. Hawke stumbled awkwardly at the sudden force and snapped, "Maker, do you have to be so crude about it?" She slapped his hands away, noting the thick growl slipping from his lips, and began to unlace it herself. If nothing else, she could save the garment and use it to sop up her dignity when she was done paying for her flippancy.

The qunari's hands grabbed at her breeches, tugging at the ties with a harsh jerk. "I still have my boots on, your ass," she muttered, trying to dance away from his rough hands. He grabbed her thighs each time, dragging her back in.

"Fuck," she hissed, feeling panic rising in her throat. It had almost been funny at first, in a small way. Hawke had almost thought it was a joke, the Arishok showing her who had more power before reeling her back in. But there was no reprieve around the corner. No one was pushing back the tent flap. No one was coming for her.

She kicked the qunari swiftly in the jaw and used his second of distraction to dart toward the exit. Her kick, however, seemed to do very little to the qunari who grabbed her leg as she passed, jarring her down onto the ground. Hawke laid there, panting, trying valiantly to send a prayer to the Maker that the massive prick might hear and take pity on her. She would prefer a hoard of darkspawn to the dead-eyed oxman holding her down at that moment. lf she could get to her daggers, if she could inch a little more -

The qunari got off of her, grunting something while toeing her over onto her back. He made a disgusted noise and walked over her, tossing the flap open and disappearing through it. Hawke sprang to her feet, grabbing her tunic and struggling into it, sliding her sheaths onto her back and breaking through the exit. She wanted to get her cloak, but the last thing she needed was getting trapped in another blighted tent with another blighted qunari who seemed intent on passing her around to his men. Merrill would just have to accept that Hawke was a raging asshole with no care for anything besides herself.

She was stopped at the gate by two guards, their eyes dark and emotionless. She tried to get past them with a few flippant words, _Oh, I just need to run home to check on my mother. I think my dog might like to come up to train with you. He's a mabari, you know. Do you have mabari_ in _Par Vollen?_

It, of course, did not work. Hawke found herself under escort, the qunari guards dragging back to the Arishok's tent. The Arishok was waiting for her with steepled fingers. _"Basalit-an,"_ he greeted. The guards dropped her arms and left without a word. "I heard you defied _Kathaban."_

Hawke snorted, grabbing her cloak and tucking it against her chest. She hid her hands in the folds; she couldn't have him see how much they were shaking. "Your _tamassran_ don't get a say in who they sleep with, I take it? They just submit to you at your whim?"

"They are respected," he answered slowly. "They are revered. But as you have said, you are no _tamassran._ You are not even _viddathari."_

Hawke nodded stiffly. She was tired and her knees hurt from her run-in with the ground. The last thing she needed was to stand around snipping back and forth with a man who had the emotional complexity of a turnip. She might as well have been screaming into the void for all the good it did her. "Well, this was fun. If that is all, I'm going home."

The Arishok stood and approached her. She tried not to wince when he reached for her, but she did and he hesitated for a moment. It was so brief that she thought she had imagined it, but then his hand retracted. "Undress," he ordered her, but he turned away, stepping toward the furs and cushions on the floor. The Arishok's back was to her, giving her an easy out.

But she didn't take it. She hated herself as she tossed her cloak down, followed by her daggers. Hawke bent down to unlace her boots, and then push down her breeches. When her head came back up, it was to be given a full, glorious view of the Arishok's thick cock hanging between his muscled thighs. Hawke hadn't gotten a good, clear view of him the previous night - there had been too much alcohol and elfroot in her blood to have seen everything properly. But she was now mostly sober, the last dregs of elfroot dissipating, and found her mouth watering at the sight of him.

The Arishok caught her looking at him, but he said nothing. He merely watched her, expressionless. Hawke swallowed past the desire clogging her throat and stood slowly, untying her haphazardly laced tunic as she did.

"Your heart beats loudly," he said suddenly. "I can taste it in the air."

"You bastards seem to be good at tasting things that can't be tasted," she mused, mouth tugging into a reluctant smile. How he managed to infuriate and amuse her so much in the span of minutes, Hawke would never understand. "Desire and heartbeats. My, I didn't know Qunari had such adoration for poetry."

The Arishok closed the distance between them and lowered himself to his knees, surprising her, to pull her smalls down. She stepped out of them, nearly stumbling, and grabbed onto his shoulders for balance. She froze, sure that he was about to lash out, but he did not. He was as still as stone as she righted herself and cleared her throat, stepping out of the smalls and kicking them aside.

The Arishok glanced up at her, the rough skin of his face somehow disapproving even when blank. "Do you take pleasure in danger, _basalit-an?"_

Hawke let her open tunic fall down her arms and onto the floor. She hadn't bothered with a breastband and was paying for it; the cold was cutting through her, her nipples so hard it was becoming painful. "Danger reminds me I am alive." She blinked, surprised at her answer. She'd never thought about it before; the response had just slipped out. Unbidden and painful, yet true.

"Educating you would be a worthy goal, were I _viddasala,"_ he murmured, pressing his face between her thighs, his tongue tracing across her folds. Hawke jolted at the touch, her hands falling to his shoulders again, a ragged gasp forcing itself from her throat. "You would find greatness. Purpose," he hummed against her clit.

"You keep on like this, Arishok, and I am going to assume you're grooming me to be your blushing bride."

He pulled back, narrowing his eyes at her. "We do not marry. Such constructs have no purpose."

"I agree," she replied, pressing her pelvis toward him, smirking. "But outside of the Qun, I have the freedom to agree. Or disagree. Or have no opinion."

He pulled back from her, looping an arm around her waist before she could realize what was happening. He slung her down onto the hides and she couldn't help the slightly helpless giggle that tore from her mouth. The motion made her head spin but her landing was soft, and the qunari above her didn't seem interested in gutting her. All in all, she'd seen worse situations in her life. Like the one with his second-in-command.

"You tie yourself to this city because you choose to?" he asked, lowering himself to her and lifting her hips up to slide her legs to either side of his hips. "You choose this place? This life?"

The question gave her pause. Did she choose this? Not in the beginning, certainly, but she could have left a number of times. _No, you could never leave Bethy,_ Hawke reminded herself. _And Mother was so proud to have the estate back._

The Arishok grunted something and continued his descent between her legs, the smallest of his horns pressing into her thighs as he did. "Is it choice if you allow a handful of others to sway you? Or is it a prison of your making?"

Hawke swallowed and bucked as his mouth found her sex and devoured it, teeth and fingers and nails scraping and prodding. She closed her eyes and whimpered at his assault on her clit while his words echoed through her. A prison of her making. Hawke hated to admit that it sounded accurate. But how was the Qun any better? At least here she had true friends. She had her family. People knew her for her name, not her station in life. She wasn't faceless. She wasn't one of the many.

The finger inside of her became two without warning and she yelped, reaching down to grab onto his shoulders but falling short. Her hands closed around his horns and she stilled, prepared for the snarl or bark when he stiffened beneath her touch. But he said nothing and returned to his work, his teeth nipping her aching nub while his fingers tore her apart from the inside.

Hawke gasped and tried to rear up, but the Arishok held her down easily, his free arm laying across her belly and pressing in. She barely noticed the pain of it as her climax slipped closer and closer. Her fingers slid down his horns and tightened on the base. He finally reacted, the fingers inside of her spasming. She would have been worried if the motion hadn't caused her to crash over the edge, bucking and squeezing and keening.

The Arishok had pulled away from her soon after she came, slapping her hands off of his horns and leaning above her, panting and wild-eyed as if he was planning all of the ways to cut her to pieces. He didn't wait for her to finish catching her breath before he picked her up into his arms and deposited her on his massive lap. His cock was somehow already hard and pressing against the swell of Hawke's ass. She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. "What excited you so, Arishok? Perhaps I can do it again."

He growled under his breath and picked her up only enough to slide her down onto him. She cried out at the motion, at suddenly being stretched and filled, but it was easier than it had been the previous night. She took a long moment to breathe, to adjust to his size, and then began moving. She took her time, languidly squeezing him with her muscles and watching him hiss in pleasure. She caressed his face and neck, fingernails scratching across the thick skin of his chest. She leaned into him and whispered in his ear, telling him all of the things she wanted to do to him in time.

He stopped her when she got to the part about sharing him with one of his men, his hands gripping her hips tightly. "No," was all he said.

Hawke smirked, stilling on his lap as her fingers skirted the thick chord of muscles around his neck. "You are attempting to tell me that you and your men haven't had fun together? Maker, what do these Educators of yours do to make you all so repressed and stuffy?"

The Arishok grabbed her wrists with one hand, tugging her closer. Her nose bumped against his, eyes staring into the silvery pools of his irises. "I have no intention of sharing you," he finally replied. His voice was thick with need, thick with anger. She couldn't tell if he hated her more for being _bas,_ or if he hated her more for being so appealing.

"You wanted to share me less than an hour ago," she murmured, her hips beginning to swivel. His cock pulsed inside of her, his muscles tightening beneath her, and she chuckled. "He had orders not to actually touch me, didn't he? That was some kind of weird test."

He tightened his grip on her wrists, making her wheeze. "How petty you must think us."

"You didn't exactly deny it," she whispered, distracting him from her words will a well-timed thrust and her lips covering his. The Arishok released her wrists and gripped the sides of her face between his massive palms, pinning her to his mouth. She groaned, her hands finding the base of his horns again, squeezing.

The Arishok broke free of her mouth, growling something harsh into her throat, his cock spasming inside of her. Hawke paused, surprised, before smirking. She squeezed again, even closer to the skin, and he jolted, gnashing his teeth against her collarbone.

"So that's your weakness," she breathed, closing her eyes at the pain of his teeth in her skin, his nails digging into her ass. She sped up, her thighs beginning to tremble and her calves screaming in protest at the tiring task of straddling a behemoth. She wasn't sure if he noticed, or if he was just clairvoyant, but he released her collarbone and pulled her off of him, pushing her back onto the furs.

The Arishok grabbed her ankles in hand and tossed them over one shoulder, leaning in and making her groan as he slid into her. He loitered there, watching her with his pale eyes. It felt as if he was trying to see into her and through her. He evidently did not like what he found because he grunted something in Qunlat and shook his head. Before Hawke could ask, he shoved into her roughly, making her shout, eyes closing.

The Arishok was gentler than the previous night, but only just; he moved quickly but with more finesse than he had shown her before. She assumed it might have had something to do with her drunken antagonisms. Even so, the change in behavior was odd, but not entirely unpleasant.

The Arishok's chest was tight under her hands as she roved over his skin, feeling every ripple muscle and ridge of scars. Her eyes met his and she was surprised to find him watching her. His lips were pulled up into a snarl. Hawke grinned at him, hating how much his anger flamed the ember in her abdomen. "Are you going sweet on me, Arishok?"

The Arishok pulled out of her quickly and tossed her over, pulling her hips up and into him. He raked his nails down Hawke's back and she whimpered, bowing her back and knowing she had to be bleeding. Her fingers curled in the thick furs beneath her, eyes closing around the welling tears.

"Is that all you've got?" she wheezed.

His hand landed on her ass with a crack loud enough to make her ears ring. Hawke's mouth opened in noiseless gasps, every nerve in her body exploding with overstimulation. A second hand fell to her other side and she whimpered, shuddering, her passage tightening around his thrusting cock. The Arishok paused, grunting, until she loosened again.

"I always thought a qunari wouldn't need goading to fuck like they mean it," she teased, looking over her shoulder to let him see the tears, the smirk, the flush on her cheeks that made her feel as if her face was in a hearth.

The Arishok was suddenly pulling out of her, hands spreading her ass cheeks. Hawke's eyes widened and, losing all bravado, she sputtered, "Wait, wait, no. No, don't-"

But he did. His slick cock pressed against her tight hole and shoved through. It hadn't mattered that he took his time about pushing into her - he was too large for it not to be painful. Hawke fell to her elbows on the furs, gasping and whining into the musky pelts. Hawke began to think that she was going to pass out, that she would never have feeling in her lower extremities ever again. And then the Arishok stilled, a hand sliding over her ass and up her back, caressing across her spine before gripping the back of her neck. "Are you ready, _Tamassran?"_

Hawke swallowed. She wasn't sure of the typical customs in the Qunari faith, but she assumed calling _bas_ formal names of honor was a very large faux-pas. Even so... there was something oddly charming about it.

Hawke took a deep breath and raised herself up on her hands, glancing behind her as best as she could. "Give me your best, Arishok."

The first handful of thrusts made Hawke's head swim and her teeth grit. She was beginning to lose feeling in her jaw when something shifted and the pain lessened, the pleasure rising. Hawke let out a soft sigh and began to move with him, pressing herself back into him with each thrust, taking him in as deeply as she could. She briefly wondered if it was possible to tear her intestines to pieces with a qunari dick, but decided it might be worth the risk when his large hand slipped around her thigh to cup her sex, a finger sliding inside of her.

Hawke was gasping, shuddering, her entire body begging for release. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ignore how good he felt inside of her, how his ragged breaths matched hers, how his free hand was caressing across her side, stroking each rib as if committing her every ridge to memory.

Hawke's open-mouthed pants got louder, the rasp ringing in her ears, and a particularly smooth thrust of his finger and cock pushed her over the edge. She felt her entire body clench as if trying to implode, her voice coming out in almost hysterical shrieks and moans. Everything had gone dark for a moment and, when she finally opened her eyes and stopped her squalling, she found her knuckles white from gripping the furs, her left index finger bloody from the nail-bending force she'd exerted.

The Arishok had continued his assault on her and was getting closer, his breath stuttering through the room. Hawke wanted nothing more than to turn around, to watch his face as he came, to see if it would be a sweet release or one full of aggression and annoyance. As it was, she could only see half of his face, and even that was blurry from tears and poor peripheral.

His hands moved to her hips again, pinning her in place and he thrust a little quicker, a little shallower. A smile slipped onto her lips as she listened to his breathing stammer, his thrusts losing their rhythm. His eyes closed, his lips parted, and Hawke bit her bottom lip. He looked serene as he chased the release.

Hawke opened her mouth to encourage him, but he suddenly stilled, a loud, sharp bark falling from his lips and he slouched over her. His cock was twitching inside of her with each powerful spurt and she let out a shuddering gasp at the sheer force of it. Hawke's upper body sagged into the pelt; the scratchy bear fur tickled her cheek, but she was too exhausted to adjust herself.

The Arishok stayed above her, using her hips to support his weight, for so long that Hawke had almost forgotten he was there. Just as her eyes were drooping, her exhausting and racing non-thoughts getting the better of her, he slowly withdrew from her and got up, moving across the room. She could hear him washing at the basin in the other corner, and then relieving himself in the chamberpot. Hawke let out a small breath and slowly pulled herself to her shaky legs.

"Lay down," he ordered without turning to her.

Hawke wanted to take him up on the offer immediately. She was exhausted and her entire body felt as though it had been run through with a sword from groin to belly. "My mother-"

"Your mother will wait," he said, turning from the chamberpot and reaching for his breeches. He stepped into them, adjusting himself, and then laced them. "Sleep."

Hawke swallowed, surprised by what might have been compassion. Or, it might have been the Arishok wanting his cock-sheath to be handy when he needed her. The thought wasn't as appalling to Hawke as it should have been.

The Arishok left the tent without a word. Hawke sighed and cleaned herself up in the sudden silence of the tent, her head swimming with exhaustion and confusion. Her collarbone smarted from where he had bitten her, and her fingernail was probably past the point of saving it. Even so, she found that she didn't care about that. She cared about her sleeping arrangements. Was he coming back? Had she just driven the Arishok out of his own bed?

The cold was becoming unbearable, so Hawke curled up under a pelt in the far corner of the pallet, taking up as little space as humanly possible. She had almost fallen asleep when the tent flaps parted and the Arishok entered. Hawke listened to him undress before joining her on the hides. He moved around for a moment and, curiosity getting the best of her, Hawke turned to face him.

He had settled onto his back with a thick block of curved wood under his neck, supporting him and keeping his horns safely away from the ground. Hawke made a face, confused for a moment. She'd never wondered about how qunari slept with the horns. Part of her had assumed they didn't sleep, considering all of the horrible stories she'd heard about the horned terrors while growing up.

"Doesn't that hurt?" she asked suddenly.

The Arishok's eyes didn't open as he snorted. "Do your wounds not hurt when inflicted? Does your body not hurt now, after your foolish behavior with me?"

Hawke smirked slightly. He had her there. She wiggled a little closer, curling herself around his arm. "It's cold," she mumbled as an explanation.

He only sighed as though regretting his decision to allow her to stay. Even so, his hand found her knee and rested there.

 

* * *

 

The Arishok seemed to have much less on his plate than Hawke had imagined. While his spies and soldiers worked tirelessly to track down the artifact they were looking for, the Arishok mostly spent time devising plans on how to return to Par Vollen when their task was complete. That really meant that he spent most of his time in his tent when not checking in with his men.

Hawke loitered in the compound for days, losing track of time between all of the rich food and wine. Not to mentioned the impromptu sex when the Arishok came back to the tent. She couldn't complain; it was honestly the best way to spend her time if she was honest. But she was beginning to miss her friends and stabbing people who deserved it. Her life wouldn't wait for her indefinitely - she needed to go back eventually.

Hawke had been in the middle of planning a way to tell the Arishok that she had to leave, at least for a few days, when a soldier, a Karasaad, entered the tent and glared at her. "You have a visitor," he intoned. "At the gate."

She raised an eyebrow and pulled herself from the furs, grabbing for her cloak. She struggled into her boots and nearly tumbled out of the tent in her haste. Perhaps it was Varric with news of something important they had to do. Perhaps it was an emissary from the Viscount. Perhaps it was Anders being Anders, overprotective and hennish. Not that any of them knew where she was.

When she made it through the gate, she was greeted by the last person she expected - or wanted - to see. Her mother.

Leandra Hawke's face was a thinly composed mask of rage. Her arms were crossed over her chest. "Do you have any idea what day it is?"

"Hello, Mother," Hawke tried to soothe, stepping closer and reaching out to pull her mother's elbow so they could find a more discreet location for Leandra's shouting.

Leandra tugged her arm away, eyes narrowing. "I will never understand why you insist on making life difficult for me. After all we have gone through? After poor Bethany-"

"Mother, this is not the time or the place-"

"Then when is the time or the place, Marian?" she snapped. Hawke was painfully aware of dock workers turning to stare. "Maker preserves me, you're over here playing house with these horned beasts?"

"Lower your voice," Hawke hissed, eyes scanning the area.

"Lower my-" Leandra flung her hands in the air and turned away from her. "Sebastian and I are leaving, right now. Do you plan to come with us, or do you choose to waste your time here, getting abused and....." Leandra let out a choked sob, and Hawke winced.

"Mother."

Leandra shook her head. "Fine. But be aware your friends have been worried sick. Both that pirate girl and Aveline came by the estate looking for you this morning. They both seem scared out of their wits. Perhaps you can be a better friend than a daughter."

Hawke's mouth opened to refute, but no words came out. Leandra was right. Leandra was always right.

"Mother-"

But Leandra was already walking away, drawing her brightly-colored shawl around her best riding dress. Hawke swallowed and watched her ascend the steps into Lowtown, her heart breaking.

Sighing, Hawke turned back to the gate and, to the Karasaad who had escorted her, said, "Tell the Arishok I had to go and that I will be back later. Tomorrow night. Or tonight. I don't know, just..." she broke off, swallowing. "I need to go. I'll be back."

The Karasaad made no indication that he understood her, but Hawke wasn't surprised; that tended to be the qunari's reaction to her. She nodded and turned, beginning the trek toward Hightown.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Maybe our relationship  
>  Isn't as crazy as it seems -  
> Maybe that's what happens  
> When a tornado meets a volcano."_   
>  [-"Love the Way You Lie," Eminem, ft Rihanna](https://open.spotify.com/track/15JINEqzVMv3SvJTAXAKED)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
> Chapter Notes / Warnings: No smut this time - but violence and character death. Final Chapter! Please enjoy <3

* * *

 

 

Hawke let out the breath she hadn't know she was holding. Isabela left. Isabela left with the Tome of Koslun. Isabela left with the Tome of Koslun that Hawke swore to return to the Arishok.

"Fuck," Hawke whispered.

"I told you she would do this," Aveline grunted from behind her. "I told you she wasn't to be trusted."

"Not helping, Red," Varric grumbled.

Hawke swallowed, staring down at the dead qunari at her feet. Her ties with the Arishok were tentative at best; there was no way he would forgive this, even given their history. Hawke briefly considered making a run for it; jumping onto the fastest frigate she could find and dragging her friends with her. But she couldn't leave without Bethany or their mother.

Not to mention the Arishok would level every city until he found Isabela. Or Hawke. Or any of her known associates.

 _He could kill Bethany,_ Hawke realized, the pit in her stomach growing. _He could kill Mother._

"We need to tell him," Hawke murmured. _"I_ need to tell him."

"Hawke, this isn't your responsibility to take her burden," Anders spoke up, leaning on his staff. "Tell him all you can about her, then send them off. _She_ deserves to face the consequences - not you."

"I second," Aveline said, shifting from one foot to the other. "The best thing for the city is getting the Arishok to pack his men up and leave. If that means chasing the whore to Rivain or whatever hole she chooses, so be it."

Hawke turned to them and glanced at Varric. "Thoughts?"

Varric shrugged, slinging Bianca over his shoulder. "You know what you can live with and what you can't, Hawke. I'm with you no matter what."

Hawke exhaled slowly. For all Isabela's faults, and there were many, she was still a friend. Hawke had shared too many ales and drunken secrets with the woman to hand her over to the metaphorical hounds.

"I still need those criminals," Aveline reminded her with a slight grimace. "I'm sorry to do this to you, Hawke, but-"

"I know," Hawke interrupted, running a hand over her face. It came back blood-spattered and trembling. "I'll go by myself. He might go easier on me if I'm alone."

Anders narrowed his eyes at the statement, and then they widened comically. His eyes shifted to the side of her, and Hawke realized he was looking at the pink, pearly scar shimmering there. Before he could say anything, Aveline sighed. "Though I appreciate the gesture, I am still Guard Captain. It is my duty to secure these fugitives."

Varric glanced at Hawke. "Whatever we're doing, we should probably do it fast. The Arishok is going to find out about these dead ones eventually, and not too many people in Kirkwall can cause this kind of mayhem."

Hawke nodded, steeling herself. She wasn't sure how the night would turn out, but she certainly didn't think it would be nearly as fun as the past week's evenings in the Qunari Compound.

 

* * *

 

The Arishok took over a half hour to receive them, and when he did, his face was the usual placid blank. "Hawke."

"Arishok," she returned. Her heart was beating rapidly in her throat, attempting to clog her voice. "I have a few things we should discuss."

He glanced behind her, seeming unimpressed. "I see you bring your cohorts."

Aveline stepped forward. "Arishok, I am-"

"Guard Captain," he interrupted, sounding both annoyed and bored. "I assume you have come for you so-called criminals." He turned his attention back to Hawke. "Has she told you their crime?"

"It doesn't matter. They're criminals; they deserve to be tried."

"Tried by who? Your Guard Captain?" He scoffed. "Your Viscount? Your Templars?" He barked something in Qunlat before adding, "They are _viddathari_ now; they are under my protection. But for you, basalit-an, I will give you the opportunity to speak with them. And then you will tell me - what would you do if you were in my position?"

Two elves came forward, eyes hard and angry as they took in Aveline. The Arishok, voice strong enough to rattle Hawke's bones, said, "These are your supposed criminals. Tell them your crime."

"This is unnecessary," Aveline snapped.

"A City Guard raped our sister," one said, eyes narrowing at Aveline. "We reported it and they did nothing. _She_ didn't think it was worth the time or the manpower."

"We planned to investigate fully-"

"We couldn't wait for that," the other snarled. "It was three months! Three months we waited! And that monster was still roaming the streets, still leering at the girls in the Alienage, still making threats."

"We took matters into our hands," the first finished. "No one else was going to do anything."

Hawke turned to Aveline. "Is this true?"

Aveline set her jaw. "We are stretched thin, Hawke, you know this better than most. We have a backlog - we cannot see to each thing immediately. But that isn't the point," she added quickly, sensing Hawke's mounting disgust. "Hawke, you know this isn't right. You know they committed a crime. Whatever happened, we will never know because they killed him. "

"What needs to be known?" Anders asked hotly. "A rapist was taken out of our world. Is that not justice? Is that not what you promise the citizens under your protection?"

"It's vengence, and it doesn't excuse murder!" Aveline shouted, finally frazzled. "Hawke, this isn't right! He can't be allowed to protect these murderers!"

"You protected that rapist," one of the elves hissed.

Hawke shook her head and turned back to the Arishok. He was watching her closely, his eyes hooded. "What would you do, were you in my position?" he asked.

Hawke sighed and shook her head. "If I were in your position, I would protect them."

"Hawke!" Aveline sounded appalled. "This isn't right!"

"And ignoring those boys was?" Varric muttered.

The Arishok held up his hand, dismissing the conversation. "Then it is settled. Captain, you will leave this place, you will leave the _viddathari_ in our care - or you will not leave this compound at all."

"You threaten the City Guard?" she snapped. "You are here by the grace of this city alone, Arishok. That grace can end swiftly."

"Aveline," Hawke interrupted before the woman could dig them a grave they couldn't climb out of, "go back to the barracks before you get yourself killed."

"Or all of us killed," Varric added.

Aveline did not move for a moment before huffing, eyes hard. "This is not the end of this," she warned.

The Arishok didn't even blink. "I am sure it is not. Go."

Aveline left, no doubt to rally her men for a march on the compound. Hawke needed to get to her before she could do so. She bit her lower lip. "There is one other thing."

"You have located the Tome of Koslun."

Hawke wasn't sure how much he knew; he might have known everything. Even so, she nodded. "We did locate it in a foundry at the docks." His pointed stare spurred her on, the words falling from her lips in a rush. "One of my companions - one of my friends - was the thief who you have been looking for. I never knew until tonight when we located the Tome. She... took it. I don't know where she is."

There was a flurry of motion around her - swords and spears pointed in their direction, the qunari surrounding them waiting for the Arishok's order. Hawke did not look away from the Arishok, her eyes pleading for him to believe her.

He did not speak for a long stretch of time before standing. "Do you submit to us, Hawke?"

Hawke blinked. "What?"

"This city is a filth," he said, looking toward the gate in disgust. "I am forced to remain, my fleet decimated and without the Tome of Koslun, but I cannot continue to turn a blind eye to this dysfunction, this corruption." His eyes narrowed. "Do you submit to the Qun? Or do you and your friends die here when we burn this city to the ground?"

Hawke swallowed and stepped toward him. The spears edged closer, one pressing into her arm, and she flinched. "Arishok-"

"Do you submit?"

Hawke closed her eyes. "No."

There was silence before the Arishok nodded. "So be it. Go."

"Go?" she repeated.

"You alone have proven worthy. What you choose to do with this gift is yours as _basalit-an._ You may choose to flee, to convert, or to die with the others who refuse us."

Hawke shook her head. "Don't do this. There are other ways to-"

"Go," he echoed. "Defend your city if you must, but know that none will show mercy if you face them in combat." _I will show you no mercy,_ he might as well have said.

Hawke nodded stiffly. "Then this is it."

His stare was baleful. "Go, _tamassran."_

Hawke turned and marched out, her companions following closely behind, and tried not to let his words choke her throat. "We need to find the others," Hawke said as they exited the compound. "Sebastian and Mother are out of the city. We need to get to Merrill and Fenris."

"It's getting late; Merrill will be at home," Varric supplied helpfully. Hawke was glad, not for the first time, that he was always so calm in crises. "Fenris is probably home, too. Drunk, if I had to guess."

"We need to split up," Hawke breathed. "I... I don't know how soon they can prepare-"

"They're Qunari," Anders sighed. "We probably have thirty minutes."

"Fuck," Hawke hissed, trying to think past the panic clawing at her. "Varric, you and Anders find Fenris. I'll grab Merrill and we'll all meet up at the Keep."

"You can't go alone," Anders blanched. "Hawke, please-"

"Come on, Blondie," Varric interrupted. "The sooner we get Fenris, the sooner we can save Hawke's ass." Varric offered her a smirk; it looked more like a grimace, anxiety tingeing it.

Anders looked as if he wanted to argue, but he swallowed it down. "Don't you dare die."

"I'm going to try not to," Hawke chuckled, the laugh pitchy and worried.

 

* * *

 

Hawke's vision was blurring, but she had to keep moving. She couldn't let the others down. She couldn't let the Arishok raze the city.

"Hawke, we need to stop!" Merrill whispered, the terror in her voice rising higher than it had a few moments before. "You're hurt, you can't keep pushing yourself-"

"Merrill, stop talking," Hawke wheezed, holding the gash on her side, her hand immediately drenched in blood. She cursed softly, leaning against the facade of an estate.

"Your home is not far," Merrill tried again. "If we go back-"

"There's no time, Merrill!" she snapped, whirling on the girl and stumbling, her head spinning. "Fuck," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Merrill, I just -- I need your head in this. We need to get to the others. If we can make it to the Keep, Anders can-"

"Sister!"

Hawke, startled, turned her head as far as she could without passing out. Bethany was running toward them, her face drawn up in horror. "Marian, what-" she fell short, eyes widening as she approached. "Maker! Marian, lie down, let me look at that wound."

Hawke gratefully lowered herself to the courtyard tiles, trying not to think about the dead nobles strewn around her. She could have been just like them - cut down by the mass of qunari roaming the streets. Thankfully she had found Merrill. Thankfully the woman's blood magic had been strong enough to protect them from most of the danger.

Most.

Hawke found herself breathing a little easier as Bethany's hands moved over the wounds - first the large gash to her side, followed by the twin burn marks on her legs, a gift from a saarebas _._ "My head, too," Hawke mumbled. If she could make the throbbing go away, perhaps she could stand up.

Bethany complied and when she pulled back, she wavered slightly. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more," she mumbled, placing a shaky hand on her head. "I'm drained as it is."

"Of course," Hawke said quickly, sitting up and hiding a wince. "Come with us. We'll protect you."

"It looks as though you can't protect yourself," Bethany chided gently, but helped Hawke to her feet and kissed her cheek. "Where is Mother?"

"Safe," Hawke replied weakly. "She's in the countryside."

Bethany did not press. "Grand Enchanter Orsino and Knight-Commander Meredith have gone ahead to the Keep."

"That is where we are going," Merrill piped up, looking less anxious now that Bethany had joined them. "Hawke, we should go back. There are potions at your home - Bethany needs-"

"We have no time. You don't understand - the Arishok will kill everyone who doesn't submit. We're under attack, and we need to stop him before-" Hawke wavered, eyes blurring again. "Fuck," she panted. "We need to go. He might listen to me. He might...." But she knew he wouldn't. She knew how this would end.

 _I'm going to die tonight,_ she admitted to herself. She accepted it. If she could give her friends a chance to get out with as many innocents as possible, it would all be worth it.

Somehow the realization made her breathe a little more comfortably. What was a single life in comparison to hundreds? Thousands?

"Go back," Hawke said, smiling weakly at them. "Get potions, money, and get to Tantervale. Find Templars or Wardens or whoever can stop these horned bastards."

"We are not leaving you," Merrill said incredulously, her eyes wide and upset.

Bethany offered her arm to Hawke, shouldering some of her weight. Merrill took the other arm. "Merrill's right," Bethany breathed. "Let's just get to Anders. He can help."

Hawke breathed deeply. If they ran into more qunari, they were all dead. Hawke was still limping - how would she ever use her daggers effectively enough to keep the bastards off of the others? "Bethany-"

"That's enough of that, Sister," Bethany interrupted, stepping forward and dragging Hawke with her. She must have guessed Hawke's words, because she added, "The Templars and mages are not far ahead and cutting swathes through the hoards. We will get to the Keep and you will be fine. We will all be fine."

Hawke didn't argue. She didn't have the strength.

 

* * *

 

"We need to stop meeting like this, Hawke," Anders tried joking as he helped Hawke out of her tunic to look over Bethany's work. He made a slight face and placed his hand over the wound on her side, the warmth of his magic sweeping through her. "Bethany does good work, but she needs practice."

"I prefer magic that can maim," Bethany simpered from a yard away. "And I can hear you."

Anders offered her a hesitant, awkward smile before turning his attention back to Hawke. "Feeling a bit better?"

"A bit," Hawke nodded, wincing when she moved further back against the column supporting her. The entryway of the Keep was eerily hushed. Hawke had expected civilians, terrified and shaking. She had expected bodies. She had expected Qunari forces. What the group had found was silence.

Varric and Fenris were speaking in hushed tones across the room, but Hawke knew it was about her. Fenris did well not to glance her way, but Varric was not so subtle. Hawke swallowed and glanced down at the wound knitting together tightly. "What do you think, Anders? Am I about to get cleaved in half?"

Anders glanced toward Bethany and Merrill, those closest to them. In an undertone, he murmured, "If anyone can stop this, it seems you can... given your history."

Hawke snorted. "It's nothing like that, Anders. If anything, he will want to kill me even more."

Anders was silent for a time before grunting softly. "You have a broken rib, too. Hold still." He began to work and Hawke breathed a little easier, the pain in her lung lessening with each second. Right  
when Hawke thought she was free of the awful conversation, Anders added, "Fenris mentioned that the Arishok let you leave in spite of your refusal to obey."

Hawke said nothing. She had no idea what she _could_ say.

She redressed and nodded to the others. "Let's finish this or die trying." She checked her daggers before moving deeper into the Keep. She didn't make sure the others were following; she hoped they weren't, to be honest, but she knew they were. For some reason, they trusted her. For some reason, they wanted to defend her.

When the group pushed through the Keep and into the main chamber, thousands of eyes greeted them - most were horrified nobles and townsfolk. Others belonged to the qunari who served the Arishok.

And then there was the Arishok himself, standing atop the stairs leading to the Viscount's reception hall. He was not alone; his second in command, the one Hawke had thought planned on raping her, was holding Isabela. His thick arm wrapped around her neck, her head craned painfully toward the ceiling.

"Isabela?" Hawke breathed, stunned.

Isabela made a croaking noise, unable to speak past the Kathaban's grip. The Arishok filled in the blanks. "Your thief returned. She felt that it was the right thing to do." His words dripped with disdain, and rightly so. If Isabela had been so worried about doing the right thing in the beginning, none of this would have happened.

"You have the Tome?" Hawke pressed, her heart fluttering. The Arishok barely nodded, just the faintest twitch, and Hawke continued, "So you can go now. You have what you came for; you can release all of these people and go back to Par Vollen."

"And turn a blind eye to this corruption? This decay?" The Arishok snorted loudly and turned away from her, walking deeper into the room and out of view. When he returned, he was dragging the Viscount. The Arishok tossed the man unceremoniously; Dumar tumbled down the steps to land only feet from Hawke. "It is too late for going back," the Arishok intoned, his feet thundering down the marble steps toward Dumar, reaching for a massive, gold-tipped battleax leaning against the wall beside his Kathaban.

Hawke's hands clenched into fists to keep her fingers from trembling. "We can find a solution," Hawke attempted. The Arishok was not looking at her as he approached; his eyes trained on the pile of dark clothing that was the Viscount. Dumar blinked up at the qunari with no fear, with no remorse. Hawke swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. "If you do this, you're instigating war," Hawke tried again. "You don't have the forces to take the city-states, not without proper planning. I've seen your map; I know what you have. You won't win this."

The Arishok paused and rested the ax on his shoulder, regarding her. "What would you have me do? Be gone, as simple as that? You would grant us ships and maps and allow us to carry on?"

"Yes," Hawke breathed, stepping forward. Dumar glanced up at her as she came to stand beside him, but his gaze was far-off and vacant. His spirit had died alongside his son; he was merely a corpse still walking.

"We will go," the Arishok began slowly, "and we will take the thief."

"No," Hawke said quickly, eyes roving toward Isabela. "You can't have her."

"You have no power to tell me no," the Arishok replied icily.

"She's not going with you," Hawke repeated firmly. "She is under my protection."

The Arishok regarded her for a moment before growling something low in the back of his throat. He was coming toward her faster than her eyes could keep up with. Hawke's hands found her daggers, but his ax came down before they had even cleared her sheaths.

The screaming from the huddled masses filled the room, and Hawke blinked back her horror as Dumar's head rolled over her boot, settling between her feet. The Arishok pulled his blade up and away from the spurting stump that was once Dumar's neck, emotionless as he regarded her. "There is a Demand to be met, _basalit-an._ And now there is no going back. You will all submit, or you will all die."

Hawke swallowed. She could feel her companions behind her reaching for their weapons, but she shook her head. "I will not submit. None of us will submit."

"Then you leave me no choice."

 _"Arishokost,"_ Fenris said suddenly, stepping beside Hawke. _"Qun-_ anaam ebra _-_ toh _."_ Hawke blinked, confused, but did not look away from the Arishok. "You call Hawke _basalit-an,"_ Fenris continued without waiting for the Arishok's blessing. "You grant her the honor of requesting a duel for our freedom. Freedom for the thief," he sneered toward Isabela, "her companions, and the innocent masses here in Kirkwall."

"Innocent masses," the Arishok repeated, snorting. "Fat _dathrasi._ None here are worth saving."

"Duel me," Hawke interrupted, her fists tightening and loosening on her dagger grips, her heart speeding up with adrenaline. "If you win, then I cannot stop you. And if I win, your men take the book and go. Isabela stays with us, and no one else dies."

The Arishok watched her for a moment before chuckling. It was not a pleasant sound. _"Meravas._ So shall it be."

Fenris nodded to Hawke gently and stepped back toward the wall. Hawke spared a glance at her companions as they moved away; Varric and Bethany looked deeply worried. Merrill was wringing her hands anxiously. Anders and Fenris were blank-faced, but Anders' eyes showed a glimmer of something like fear. She offered them all the most flippant grin she could manage before stepping back a bit, twirling her blades in her hands.

"Do you require another weapon?" the Arishok asked, his ax resting head-down against the floor. One of his men dragged the pieces of Dumar away, leaving only a wet stain of blood in their wake. Another handed the Arishok a second weapon - a long, saw-toothed blade that was almost as tall as Hawke herself.

Hawke glanced down at her daggers. Daggers Isabela had bought for her - or stolen for her, Hawke was never told and never asked. She shook her head, though the offer was quite generous. "These will do."

"If you insist."

When the hall stilled, Hawke's hands sweating and her throat clogged with fear and adrenaline, she murmured, "Do we wait for the first bell of midnight, or can we get this thing moving?" Bravado. Always with her bravado.

The Arishok lifted his ax, readying himself. "Have you made peace with your Maker?"

Hawke's lips twitched as she leaned her weight on her back leg, blades rising to block her face. "My Maker isn't here, Arishok, so why don't you stop stalling and-"

He flew at her faster than she could follow. Hawke stumbled back just in time, his ax embedding into the pillar that had been behind her only moments before. Hawke swallowed and stumbled to her feet and away, watching as he jarred the blade loose and came at her again. Hawke barely had time to think as she rolled under the sweep of the sword, slashing at his calf as she passed. Her blade came back without blood, but there was a significant gash in his breeches. Hawke lashed out a second time, this one to his flank as his ax crashed toward her, sheering across the swell of her thigh and making her hiss in pain. Her dagger landed neatly under his ribs - a place where her mouth had loitered not days before. He snarled and his sword sliced across her back.

Hawke floundered, falling to the ground and gasping. She couldn't feel the pain, just the hot searing of her blood pouring down her back. She stumbled like a wounded bird, trying to right herself but tripping over her own feet.

The Arishok was upon her before she could move, his ax cleaving down while the sword snaked toward her. Hawke managed to duck out of the way, slipping in her own blood. She scurried to her feet, a dagger lashing out at his thigh and landing neatly in the thick cord of muscle she'd traced with her tongue. The sweat from her brow was sliding down into her eyes and Hawke blinked rapidly, stuttering out of the way of the Arishok's flailing blade.

She saw her companions for a brief moment; long enough to know they all understood what she had realized earlier in the evening. She was going to die. They were all going to die. Hawke had finally bitten off more than she could chew and nothing, not even her late nights with the Arishok, could save them.

"You cannot hope to win this," the Arishok shouted at her, giving her a reprieve for long enough that Hawke was able to get to her feet and readjust her daggers, circling him, looking for a sign of weakness. He was limping slightly from the wound on his thigh, but otherwise was solid. "Submit."

"I've told you," she panted, her voice coming out pitchier than usual, "I only submit in one way, and it's not to your Qun."

"But to me?" he pressed.

Hawke swallowed. She didn't dare glance at her friends; she didn't dare look away from the behemoth stepping toward her, flicking her blood from his sword. "You talk too much, Arishok," she breathed, shaking her arms out. They were beginning to go numb.

The Arishok grunted and tossed himself at her. She barely rolled out of the way, her eyes widening at his sheer size and speed. She'd never anticipated that he would be so light on his feet. She certainly didn't expect him to be able to turn as quickly as he did. He spun toward her just as she dove in for a jab at his spine, planning on a neat blow between two vertebrae. But suddenly it was his abdomen, not his lower back, in front of her.

Her dagger slid across his belly, deflected slightly by his sword, and his blade nicked across her arm. Hawke shouted, her hand spasming, the dagger dropping free. Her second knife swooped in for a blow, her last chance to make it out alive, but he tossed his weapons away and grabbed her hand, wrenching it back.

Hawke screamed as her arm bent backward and her wrist snapped, the sound echoing through the otherwise-silent hall. His other hand secured around her neck, lifting her up off of the ground. The Arishok watched her without emotion as she clawed desperately at his arm with her one good hand, the tears making it hard for her to see him clearly.

"I told you that I would watch the life leave your eyes," he said, but his words were strangely soft.

The only response Hawke could offer was a croak, her hand falling free of his arm. She blinked, feeling the hot tears trace down her burning cheeks, the air suddenly muggy around her. She opened her mouth, trying desperately to find a small bit of air, something to keep her going, but found nothing. Nothing but his hand around her neck, just as it had been so many times before.

"You would die like this?" he asked her, sounding enraged at the prospect. "You would give up so easily? And here I called you _basalit-an._ Fight me, Hawke. Show me you are worthy of respect."

Hawke's eyes closed. She could feel the blood vessels in her eyes threatening to burst. She could feel her lungs screaming. There was nothing she could do.

Hawke thought she might have heard Bethany letting out a loud, horrified wail. She thought she might have heard Isabela shout her name. Her eyes fluttered open. She wished she could see them all one last time. Say something - anything. Probably something stupid, knowing her. Probably something insufferable. She would have smiled at the thought, had her mouth not been so busy making awful, choked noises as it searched for air.

Her intact hand brushed across her thigh, across the pouch sewn into her Enasalin leathers. She grappled with the bag weakly, fingers fumbling, until she was able to open it. The Arishok's hand tightened, and light burst in her eyes. She had accepted that she would die, but she didn't have to die alone.

Her fingers curled around one of the small vials in her pocket, and she pulled it out, weakly shoving it into the Arishok's eyes, the glass smashing and the green liquid inside flowing across his face.

The response was instantaneous. The Arishok dropped her, snarling and clawing at his eyes, and Hawke rolled to the ground, wheezing and sputtering. She didn't have time to catch her breath, or time to clear her eyes of tears, or dig the burning shards of glass from her hands. She grabbed her dropped dagger and launched herself at the Arishok, the blade sliding across his thick neck, slicing cleanly through his jugular.

He fell with little fanfare. He didn't cry out. He didn't flail. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone. Hawke slumped to the ground, dropping her dagger and leaning heavily on the Arishok's chest, gulping for air and trying to stem the tears of pain flowing from her eyes. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to fade, the numerous pains were becoming too much.

Hawke allowed her eyes to close, not even hearing her companions shouting her name. She was finally done. She was finally at peace. The irony wasn't lost on her, that she would die draped over the motionless chest of the one person she never thought she would be able to kill.

 _Horned bastard,_ she thought absently, smirking sadly before losing consciousness.

 

* * *

 

Hawke had been in and out of cognizance four times that she could remember. She hadn't been able to stay awake for long; only long enough to catch random snippets of conversation and faces.

When she finally came to, it was to an empty room - her empty room. The fireplace was roaring, making Hawke's brow prickle with sweat. She gingerly glanced under the covers to find herself dressed in a thin shift, her wounds mostly healed. Her wrist was functional again, she was proud to see, and it only hurt a little when she moved it in a circular motion.

The circular motion of her aching wrist reminded her of the fight; of how she and the Arishok had circled. How neither of them seemed willing to make the first move. How the Arishok held back. How Hawke didn't.

She should have died. If the world were fair, if skill and raw talent were all that was measured, Hawke would have died. But the world wasn't fair, and natural talent and ability meant nothing when neither of them wanted to kill the other, when emotion got in the way.

She had seen the look in his silvery eyes. She had heard the tone in his voice. The disappointment as he held her aloft, as he watched her struggle for life. For a moment, he had forgotten the Qun. For a moment, he knew his faith was shaken.

Hawke's bedroom door opened and Varric stepped through carrying his writing materials. She knew the bag well; Varric had been known to use her study when he needed silence. When he saw her awake, he blinked, surprised. "Well, look who's up. You need Anders? He's sleeping, but-"

"No," Hawke said quickly, her voice coming out in a gravelly croak. She frowned and put a hand to her throat.

"Anders said your voice might take a bit to come back," he informed her, moving into the room to place his bag on her desk. He stood awkwardly for a moment. Hawke had never seen him awkward. "How about a game of Wicked Grace?" he offered, trying to sound cheerful.

Hawke didn't want to play cards. She didn't want to do anything. But she smiled and nodded, not ready to hear the craggy voice that was hers. Wicked Grace, at least, would keep her mind occupied. Wicked Grace wouldn't remind her of the fight. Wouldn't remind her of how close she had been to death. Wouldn't remind her that there was something in the Arisok's eyes - almost as if he knew that, had he returned to Par Vollen, he would be facing re-education. All because of her.

Varric settled himself on the bed across from her with the deck he had pulled from his bag. Hawke watched him shuffle the cards, trying not to think of her bone cracking with each snap of the cards' meeting.

"Never thought I'd see someone shove an entire bottle of Fell Poison into someone's eyes before," Varric murmured nonchalantly, dealing to both of them. "I'm glad you thought of it."

Hawke swallowed. "Me, too." She picked up her cards, clenching her teeth against the memory of the glass shards in her hand, the glass shards in the Arishok's eyes.

"Fenris told me he called you _tamassran,"_ Varric added in an undertone. "Told me it was a term of honor for the women who see to men's... baser needs."

Hawke clenched her jaw and went about arranging her cards. She hesitated on the last one. A battleax. She let out a shuddering breath, her fingers trembling. She put her cards down and met Varric's gentle gaze. "Yeah," was all she managed.

Varric nodded and set his cards aside, too. "I'm sorry, Hawke."

She hadn't anticipated that. She wasn't sure what she thought Varric would say; admonish her, maybe, or ask probing questions. But he didn't. He simply watched her.

"It wasn't like that," she finally said. "It wasn't... that." Varric nodded. "I just... I never thought it would end that way. I thought I could convince him to leave. And maybe I could have if I gave up Isabela..." she trailed off, her throat choked. "I thought I was going to die, Varric. I'd resigned myself to it."

Varric opened his arms to her and she leaned over, pressing her face into his shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. He held her close, and Hawke mumbled, "Between him and me, I thought it would be me."

"You're safe now," Varric whispered into her hair.

"I know," she sighed, closing her eyes.

If only that felt like enough.


End file.
